by John Foxjohn
“I’m tired.”
Henry nodded, still frowning. “I’m going to look into this. I still need to get the information on Ronny’s insurance. Even though you think this dead ex-cop did it, we have to cover all bases.”
David spent most of the day going through all the reports. Tere had to be something, but he was missing it. Later, Henry stopped in and sat across the desk from David.
They were silent for several minutes. “David, I need to know why this Belford would want to kill the three of you.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I think I need to hear this,” Henry said.
“Let’s go to the Sty,” David said.
“They don’t like you there anymore. We may have to shoot our way out.”
David trudged to the door, but half turned to Henry. “Make sure you bring your gun.”
When they entered the bar, all conversations ceased. Henry leaned over and whispered, “See, I told ya.”
Every eye followed them as they strolled to the bar. Jimmy Henks, the owner, stood behind the bar. David had never liked him.
They ordered, but Henks didn’t move to get the beer. “I don’t want a turncoat cop’s business in here.”
David, at the boiling point, reached across the bar, grabbed Henks by the collar and pulled him over. Henks hung half on the bar with his feet dangling. Henry told someone he’d better put the sap away.
“Listen idiot. I’ve put up with all this crap I intend to. I have a friend in the grave and a supervisor in the hospital.” He put his face inches from Henks’. “This bar’s open to the public. I’m the public and I ordered something. If I can’t order in here, I’m going to talk to the chief and see if we can get this bar placed off limits to cops. What would that do to your business?”
Someone yelled behind David, “Why don’t you get out of here?”
David heaved Henks back and turned his back to the bar. Officers remained seated, but a few stood. David nodded and rubbed his hands together. “Some of you brave boys in here have been calling my house leaving these little messages on my answering machine telling me what you’re going to do to me.”
Henry snapped his head around. David hadn’t told him about the calls.
“Some of you have big imaginations about what you’re going to do. You also have a lot of guts to call on the phone. And here’s the good part. Not a single person has bothered to leave his name.” He laughed. “Brave public servants of the Houston Police Department.”
David took his coat and tie off and laid them on the bar. He handed Henry his .45. “Why don’t we see how brave you are? One, two, three at a time or all of you. Come on. Here I am. It’s time to put up or shut up.”
He looked from one to the other. Most of the ones who stood, sat when he looked at them. “I’m still here waiting. I don’t even have a gun. No sap or weapon. Any takers?”
No one said a word.
“What I thought.” He put his coat on and hung his tie around his neck without tying it. Henry handed him his gun, and he put it back into the shoulder holster. “I’m going to say this, and I’m going to turn around and my order had better be on the bar. I broke the code of this department and turned two police officers in. I’m not proud I had to, and this was the first time I’ve even considered turning in a cop. If I had to make this decision again, I would in a heartbeat. They broke a code that’s a lot more important than the one I broke. Furthermore, these same two officers attempted to blow me up with dynamite.”
David looked around the bar, meeting the eyes of the officers who would look at him. He was preaching to the choir, and he was in the wrong church. Those who believed as he did, didn’t need any convincing. No matter what he said, some in the bar would not change their minds. Ingrained in their soul, the age-old tradition to protect each other would not go away like a finger snap.
“People are not allowed to go around killing people in this country, and that includes police officers. There’s a big difference in killing someone in the line of duty where lives are at risk, and murder. If you can’t see the difference, you’re worse than the people we have sworn to put away.”
Henks set beer bottles sat on the bar behind him. He wasn’t worried about him, or his back. David and Henry picked up their beers and headed to the back.
“Mason.”
When he turned, a large officer still stood, holding his gun on one who sat frozen in his seat. “Mason, you’ve never met me in your life. And I’ll tell you my name. I’m Patrol Sergeant Lark O’Brein,” he pronounced it O’Breen. “First, I want you to know I haven’t called you. Second, I went through the police academy with Ronny Hemes. He was a good friend, and he told me a lot about you. If you need anything, any help with this case or with any of these,” he pointed around the bar, “you call me. I don’t want to waste my time with cowards any more than you do. What I do care about is the person who killed Ronny is taken care of.”
David took a swig of beer. “What if it’s a cop?”
“I don’t care if it’s the police chief. Ronny deserved more than what he got. His killer deserves more than what he’s got, too.”
David looked O’Brein in the eye. “Ronny Hemes was my best friend. I’ll get the one who killed him or I’ll die trying. I don’t care who it is.”
David and Henry strolled to the back to be alone, sitting with their backs to the wall. Henry let out a long breath. “Well, that went well. Seriously, you’ve missed your calling. You need to teach people to be tactful.”
Their beers were half-gone when Henks brought them another. “Okay,” Henry said. “Tell me about Belford.”
“It started when Inspector Patterson became third precinct commander. The third was a mess—I mean a real mess. They had a captain in command who couldn’t get promoted and was about to be forced into retirement. He didn’t care. Officers did what they wanted to. No one answered calls. The precinct became a haven for burglars and everything else.”
“It sounds bad,” Henry said.
“It was. Officers on midnight shift got in the cars, parked at their girlfriends’ houses and spent the night.”
Henry’s mouth fell open.
“In came Captain Patterson. In order to clean the mess up, he had to get rid of a lot of people. Problem was, he couldn’t until he had replacements. He raided other precincts to bring in proficient officers. One was Ronny Hemes, who he’d worked with before. He also got me from the police academy.”
Henry nodded. “Makes sense. Bring in people you know and get people from the academy who haven’t been involved in it.”
“Belford was the training officer in the third, and the sloppiest and laziest of a bad lot.”
“If he was that bad, how’d he get to be training officer?” Henry asked.
“No one else wanted the job. If the other officers had a trainee with them it would’ve cramped their styles. Patterson came in, and he assigned me to ride with Belford. We spent two days patrolling a five-block area. We would leave the station in the morning and go to a restaurant to have breakfast. We’d go by a few convenience stores and hang out there until lunch. We’d hit another restaurant.”
“You mean you didn’t do any patrolling?” Henry asked.
“We never answered a call, stopped anyone, investigated an accident, or did anything the academy taught me. But I was a rookie and didn’t have a clue what was going on. I found out later Patterson did. He was investigating Belford. The only way he could investigate him was to give him a rookie to train and plenty of rope.”
“What for?”
Patterson called me into his office on my third morning and told me I was going to ride with Ronny. He fired Belford.”
“What was Belford doing?” Henry asked.
“Five restaurants and six convenience stores were paying Belford for security.”
Henry’s mouth fell open. “While on duty?”
“Yep. He brought in about eleven hundred a month besides his pay from the city.
”
“I’ll be. He had a good thing going there.”
“That’s why he wanted to be the training officer. He had to be on day shift to do the security, and the training officer job guaranteed him days. Without the job he’d have to rotate shifts like everyone else.”
“Hmm,” Henry said. “What happened to Belford?”
“He’d been on the force for eighteen years. He lost his retirement and couldn’t find a job after the police department fired him. The places paying him for security stopped. He couldn’t do anything for them if he didn’t have a uniform. Six months after the department fired him, we heard he blew his brains out.”
Henry didn’t say anything for a while. “I can see where he might want to have revenge on the inspector, but unless you left something out, you and Ronny didn’t do anything.”
“We didn’t, but Belford thought we did. He thought we went to the inspector.”
When they left the bar, Henry went home, but David headed back to the station. He wanted to take the reports home. Something still bothered him about them, but he couldn’t come up with it. Something someone said at Ronny’s crime scene. He turned onto the street, glancing in his rearview mirror, as a black BMW veered away from the curb.
His heart ricocheted inside his chest.
He might be overreacting, but someone had kept an eye on them. The shooter had tailed him to the restaurant.
He turned on South Main and swerved to the right lane. He expected the car to keep going, but it didn’t. The BMW still tailed him. His pulse throbbed. He had to find out if someone was following.
He turned right on Walker Street and crossed Louisiana. Two vehicles back, the car continued to follow. He accelerated to the left lane, turned left on Smith Street. Still there.
What should he do? He couldn’t see the driver through the car’s tinted windows, and he was too far away to read the plate. He glanced in the mirror again and the vehicle still stalked him.
He didn’t know much about the shooter, but he did know he was good. It was outhouse luck David was alive. Without that six-inch step, he’d be dead.
Ronny, a veteran, streetwise cop who’d been the most savvy person David had ever met, was dead.
Shudders rippled through his body.
He continued south heading toward Interstate 45 and remembered a coffee shop on Smith before 45. He pulled into the parking lot and got out, making sure he didn’t look at the BMW.
Square with a flat roof, the restaurant had windows on three sides, but not the back. The kitchen was located in the rear.
He strolled into the shop and sat at the counter where he could see the parking lot. Parked at the back, the BMW sat with the rear close to the back of the building. He could see the front, but not the driver. He did get the license number. He wrote this on his spiral notebook and thought about calling it in, but decided against it.
It was time to end this.
He called the waitress over and flashed his badge, telling her he was going out the back. If she heard shots, she was to call the police. She gulped several times and nodded but didn’t say anything.
David rose and edged toward the rear and through the kitchen. He didn’t think the driver could see him. If he did, he’d think David was going to the bathroom.
In the kitchen, an older man was washing dishes, but didn’t say anything when David left out the back door. He eased to the corner, peeking around.
He figured the driver would be looking inside the coffee shop. Pulling his gun, he took a quick glance. It was now or never.
He squatted, duck walking to the passenger side. Inside the restaurant, the waitress was watching, her face mashed against the window. David hoped she wouldn’t give him away.
He crept up to the passenger side. He still couldn’t see in, but he did see the lock on the door. Thank goodness, it was open. He raised his hand and caught the handle without lifting.
He took a deep breath to calm his throbbing chest. His hand shook on the handle. If the shooter had seen him, he’d be dead when he opened the door.
Should he do this or call for backup? This had gone too far. It was time to put this mess to rest. If he didn’t get the shooter, he’d try again and David may not be ready.
Chapter 32
Taking another deep breath, David snatched the door open. He knelt. Pointed his .45 inside. “Police, freeze.”
Screams from the car almost made David mess on himself, and shoot.
Jennifer Michaels, eyes wide, yelled at the top of her lungs. She had good ones, too.
Shaking violently, she yelled, “You scared the daylights out of me.”
David sank back on his rear on the parking lot. All his energy abandoned him. He couldn’t do anything. He held his mouth open and gulped in air, realizing he’d been holding his breath. He didn’t know for how long.
Jennifer cried, yelling he’d scared her, and banging her hands on the steering wheel.
“I scared you? Why are you following me? I could’ve killed you.”
She was getting over being scared and now was flat out mad. “I followed you because we can’t find out anything from the police.”
David managed to stand on weak legs. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. We’ve had two police officers shot and one killed by someone who followed them. Lady, you came as close to being dead as a person can and still live.”
She muttered, “Oh” before he slammed the door and stormed away. He still trembled.
He pulled out and turned left on Smith Street. Her BMW remained in the parking lot. He hoped she’d messed in her pants. A thought occurred to him. He wondered if he’d really yelled, “Police, freeze.”
When out of sight, he pulled over. He had to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal. But he’d never let Michaels see he was this shaken up.
***
When David approached his apartment door, a short, slender, well-dressed man waited for him. He wasn’t a cop, too short. David was the only short one.
“Detective Mason?”
David put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. “Yes.”
“I’m Linville Elliott from the Houston Chronicle and I’d like to ask you some questions.”
David let out a deep breath. “I can’t and won’t answer any questions. You’ve wasted your time coming here.”
“But it’s my time to waste, isn’t it? Now, do you think Inspector Patterson’s shooting is related to Sergeant Hemes’?”
“You have an obvious hearing problem,” David said, opening his door and slamming it in the reporter’s face when tried to follow. He’d had enough with reporters for one day.
Beth came over later and told him five reporters were waiting for him outside. He understood what Pores meant by them camped out on his doorstep. They even tried to interview Beth.
He considered yelling out Henry’s address, but his partner was still considering one of the new detectives as a partner.
***
David arrived at the office with the chickens. Sitting at his desk, he re-read the investigative report on Ronny’s death. He’d gone over the paperwork a hundred times, but couldn’t find what he was looking for. It had to be here.
David dragged his gaze from the papers when someone knocked on his door. Hands on hips, frown on his face, Henry stood in the doorway.
David cocked his head. “What’re you knocking for, Henry?”
“You looked like you were deep in thought. Didn’t want to startle you. You might shoot me.”
David chuckled. “Get in here, Toothpick.”
Henry smiled and threw David a playful salute. “Yes, sir.”
With his right ankle crossed on his left knee, Henry sat, and asked, “Are you still trying to find the missing piece in those reports?”
“Yep.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you might be wrong? You want to find the killer so bad, you’re imagining something’s there when it isn’t.”
“Nope. Never occu
rred to me.”
Henry shook his head.
“I’m missing something, here. I know it.”
Henry rubbed his hand over his hair. “When’s the last time you slept?”
David tucked his chin in and looked at Henry, raising an eyebrow. “Last night, Mom.” Peggy hoofed in with another pink phone message. “When are you going to call these people back? This is the third message this week they’ve left.”
David glanced at the message and put it on his desk. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. “When I get a chance, Peggy. I don’t know them and don’t know why they keep calling me. I have nothing to do with missing persons.”
“I told them that the first time they called, but they insist you are investigating their son’s disappearance.”
“I’m not. Never have been.”
“Do you want me to handle it?” Henry said.
David waved him off, exasperated. “No. I’ll call them when I get a chance. Thank you, Peggy.”
“What do you want me to do?” Henry asked when Peggy left.
David rubbed both palms over his face. He wished he could get rid of his headache. “Henry. I want to know everything there is to know about Phillip Belford. I want his entire family tree, where they live, and I want to account for their whereabouts.”
“Okay,” Henry said through tight lips. “That should keep me busy for a while. I hope he didn’t have a big family.”
David trudged to the break room and poured coffee. “Yuck,” he sputtered when he tasted it. They could float a horseshoe in this mess, but he needed it.
When he sat at his desk, Peggy popped back in. “Did you call those people back?”
He took in a deep breath and rubbed his temples. What’s wrong with Peggy? He didn’t have time for this junk. He shook his head. What did they want with him and a missing person? He was a darn homicide detective. A sniper had shot three officers, one who might die, and one he killed. Media was trying to run up his butt, and the chief wanted results fast and he was supposed to talk to these people about a missing person he’d never heard of. “No-Peggy- I-have-not-called-them-back-yet.”
“Good. Don’t. They’re here to see you.”
