Casting Bones

by Don Bruns

  He hadn’t anticipated being shut out. Possibly Skeeter Lewis had looked out the window and told everyone inside to ignore the visitor.

  Then he heard the door handle start to turn. Slowly. He prepared himself, ready to drop the clipboard at a moment’s notice and pull the Glock.

  The door creaked before he saw it move, as it inched open. Archer took one step back, anticipating the worst. The door opened to a four-inch crack before he heard the voice, and glanced down.

  ‘My mommy is busy right now.’

  The little girl had her face pressed into the slight opening. Her bright brown eyes were staring up at him as she waited for a reply. Hell, they’d sent the kid out to do surveillance. It wasn’t right.

  ‘Honey,’ he spoke loudly, knowing that Mom and probably Lewis were close by, ‘I’m from Children’s Services. We’ve been trying to give your mommy some checks but every time we send them, they come back to our office. We’ve got a little over three thousand dollars to give your mommy and you, but she’s got to come down to our office to get that money. Can you tell her that?’

  ‘My mommy is busy.’

  ‘I understand. But you should go tell her that I have three thousand dollars that belongs to her.’

  She stood there a moment longer, then leaving the door cracked open she walked away. Archer could hear her talking to someone.

  Thirty seconds can seem like an eternity when your life is on the line. He kept the board up near his chest, half tempted to push the door open the rest of the way. Whoever was inside had heard him. The next step was theirs.

  Without a warning the door swung open, and a young man with disheveled hair and a white T-shirt and jeans stood in the entrance.

  ‘You’re with Children’s Services?’

  It was him. No question. The photograph Archer had seen matched the man he was facing.

  ‘Yes sir. We have some checks for Miss Jefferson and her daughter, and I’m just trying—’

  ‘You can give ’em to me. I’ll get ’em to her.’

  ‘They’re made out to her, in her name.’

  The man put his arms behind his back and Archer transferred the board to his left hand, his right hand poised to reach inside the jacket.

  ‘You got them checks with you?’ His voice was a little singsong, somewhat effeminate.

  ‘In my car. If you want to come with me, I’ll just need you to sign for them. It’s simply protocol.’

  The man hesitated, his hands still behind his back.

  If he’s got a gun, Archer thought, he’s going to pull it now.

  The man pulled both his hands from behind his back and immediately dropped them to his sides.

  Archer stifled a sigh of relief.

  ‘The checks,’ he nodded to the car across the street. Repeating himself, he said, ‘They’re in the vehicle so you’ll have to come with me.’

  On blind faith he turned his back on the murderer and stepped off the wooden porch, slowly walking toward the sidewalk.

  ‘You bring the checks up here.’

  Without turning, Archer said, ‘Do you want the money or not?’

  Pausing for a second, he heard the screen door bang shut and footsteps behind him. He casually glanced over his shoulder and stopped, letting Lewis slowly catch up with him.

  He looked over at the killer and smiled, and as Skeeter Lewis reached him, Archer lashed out with his right foot, viciously kicking Lewis in the left leg and yanking his feet out from under him. The young man collapsed on the concrete and Archer whipped out his Glock, pressing it forcefully against Lewis’s temple.

  ‘John Lewis, you are under arrest for the murder of Judge David Lerner.’

  Two uniformed officers were jogging up to the scene and as Archer read the Miranda rights, they cuffed the suspect.

  ‘You have the right to remain silent …’

  Yanking him to his feet, they walked him down to the sidewalk, Archer following closely.

  ‘Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law …’

  Levy stepped up patting Archer on his back.

  They all paused while Archer finished his obligation.

  ‘Are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?’

  Lewis stared back at him with hollow eyes. Then in a thin, whiny voice he said, ‘Fuck you, whoever you are.’

  Archer took that as a no.

  The officers pulled him away, heading toward a squad car.

  ‘Amazing, Detective Q,’ Levy was truly impressed. ‘It’s too bad Strand wasn’t here to watch you in action. You pulled that off like you’d practiced all of your life. Impressed? Hell yes. I guess a Detroit boy can teach us Crescent City cops a couple of new tricks.’

  ‘We’ve got two more killers out there, Levy. Lewis is a low-level punk, but whoever is orchestrating this is a serious threat. I’m afraid this is just the tip of the iceberg.’

  46

  Paul Trueblood punched in the numbers on his cell phone, watching his rear-view mirror to be sure that Strand wasn’t following. He didn’t think he would. The punk cop was only interested in the money. Working with blue was not his favorite thing to do. It exposed the weakness of the police force, as far as he was concerned, the lowest level of law enforcement.

  The voice on the other end answered.

  ‘Trueblood?’

  ‘He said he can get the sheets.’

  ‘Yeah? We’ll see. If I remember, you were going to get them from Lerner himself. That didn’t work out so well, did it?’

  ‘Damn, don’t remind me. It took months to get that set up. I was skeptical, and then all of a sudden he decides to turn, and then—’

  ‘They’re making us look stupid, Paul. They knew Lerner was going to go public. Hell, they knew Warren was involved. And apparently they suspected Judge Hall. What do you think? Maybe there’s a leak in our system.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘We’re working on that. Maybe they’re just a little ahead of the ball. Anyway, we’ve got to move forward.’

  ‘And now, who’s left?’ Trueblood asked. ‘Hall and Warren are gone. Hell, we may have to start all over again.’

  ‘Not enough time. If we go back to square one, they’ll torch every piece of evidence they’ve got.’

  ‘They’ve already killed three.’

  ‘They have. So it’s even more important that we have the hard data.’

  ‘We can’t include the cops.’

  ‘They would so fuck it up.’

  ‘But we can use a rogue cop. Strand says he can get the sheets.’

  ‘We could just demand them.’ The voice on the other end of the phone was almost insistent.

  ‘I’ll guarantee that wouldn’t work,’ Trueblood said. ‘Jurisdiction, blue pride, the whole thing would take weeks to sort out. We need that information right now. This can’t go on any longer. Christ, all we need is another judge or two to end up on the kill list.’

  ‘Got it. By the way, how much is this supposed to cost?’

  ‘Forty thousand.’

  ‘Whew. Forty thousand? This guy actually asked for that? No shit?’

  ‘That’s what he asked for.’

  ‘Well, we go with the first plan. Inspect the merchandise, take it, then threaten to turn him in. There’s no way he can say a word. Don’t let him have the cash first. Are we going to need him for anything else?’

  ‘No. We can burn him.’

  ‘He’s not the kind of guy who would go for his gun, is he?’

  ‘He’s a punk,’ Trueblood said. ‘A pussy. He’s scared of his shadow. His courage is alcohol. I just hope he has the guts to get the printouts.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we get the sheets, we should be good to go. And besides, what can that piece of shit do for us after that? He doesn’t know anything. He’s definitely not worth forty thousand dollars. He’s not worth one thousand.’

  Trueblood thought for a moment.

  ‘OK. I’ll tell him we had a change of heart,
but to be fair, I won’t report him. He’s not going to be happy. I mean, he’s going to be very upset.’

  ‘Other than coming after you, there’s nothing he can do. Anyway, I’d have a hard time justifying any money until this whole thing plays out. If it plays out.’

  ‘Got it,’ Trueblood said.

  ‘Paul, treat those things like gold.’

  ‘I’m bringing them in the second the transfer is made.’

  Trueblood checked his mirror one more time. He didn’t recognize any vehicle behind him.

  ‘Paul, one more thing.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘When you drop them off …’ there was a slight pause.

  ‘When I drop them off, what?’

  ‘Plan on taking a little vacation. The Caribbean, a week in Mexico. I think we’d like to see you disappear for a short while. Come back with a tan, maybe a moustache, shave your head … we’ve got another assignment for you in a month or so.’

  Paul Trueblood smiled. As a freelancer, someone who was on the fringe, he had the same exact idea. But maybe a little longer than one week.

  47

  His leg was chained to the table, a cold Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of him, and Levy and Archer were sitting in chairs across from the killer.

  ‘It’s not often, John, that we get a gift like we got on this case. Would you like us to play the recording again for you?’

  ‘It’s not my voice.’

  ‘Yeah, it is. We can prove it. You’d be surprised at the technology we have. Christ, all kinds of detecting devices, speech patterns, lots of ways we can prove it’s you.’

  ‘Didn’t happen.’ The young man rubbed his knee where he’d been kicked.

  ‘Yeah, it did happen. The sooner you admit that the sooner we can start dealing. John, two other judges have been killed. Murdered. Do you want us to look at you for all three killings?’

  ‘Two more?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ve got you, excuse the pun, dead to rights on one. It’s not much of a leap to figure you did number two and three.’

  There was a little fear in the cocky kid’s attitude.

  ‘Look,’ Archer said, ‘actually, we don’t think you were involved. The two murders happened almost at the same time. However, somebody is going to make the case. You may have been the ringleader. You may have orchestrated the other two killings. Is that what you want on the record before this goes to trial? One is bad enough, but three judges? Man, you’d have no chance. Period.’

  ‘I didn’t do it.’

  ‘You did Lerner,’ Levy said. ‘You and James.’

  ‘And if I admit that?’

  ‘You have to convince us that you didn’t do Warren and Hall. You have to prove that you didn’t kill the other two judges. That’s all there is. Show me you weren’t involved in all three incidents.’

  ‘Hell, I didn’t even know about this Warren and Hall. Maybe James did. Maybe he was in on it, but nobody offered me squat. I mean, I didn’t do anybody, Detective. Why don’t you grill Gideon? You’re blowing smoke, am I right?’

  Archer stood up and walked behind Lewis.

  ‘Skeeter, it didn’t work out. They offered you some good money to kill judge one, but obviously we found you. I’m telling you, if you don’t cooperate, that we will work to get you on two and three. If you know who else was involved, I can even make it sweeter.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound that sweet as it is.’ Tears formed in the man’s eyes and started running down his cheeks. ‘I want to help. I wish I could. I could use the information to cut myself a break. But I don’t know. This was a one-time thing.’

  Levy jumped in.

  ‘What was a one-time thing? Explain.’

  ‘Nothing, man. You’ve got the wrong guy.’

  And they started over.

  Half an hour later they were still at it. John ‘Skeeter’ Lewis wasn’t giving them any more. It was obvious his employers had kept most of the details from him so he couldn’t incriminate them.

  ‘Who contacted you?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘You’re going to get at least life, and possibly the death penalty, John.’

  ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  And so it went. For another hour.

  48

  The evidence and property division in Central City was a nondescript, concrete-and-brick structure that resembled a warehouse, which in fact was what it was. And there was a good chance very few residents in the neighborhood knew that the building housed hundreds of thousands of items critical to criminal cases. Probably no one knew that thousands of dollars – in the form of cash, drugs or whatever – walked out of the building on a weekly, if not daily basis. All that the neighbors knew was that cops frequented the building. Straight cops, crooked cops, but cops were there on a regular basis. The neighborhood actually felt quite safe with all the law enforcement personnel hanging around.

  Detective Adam Strand was a frequent visitor. Any cop on homicide duty was. Only now, it was a personal matter, so this time was a little different.

  ‘ID.’

  Strand handed the bored lady his detective ID card.

  She ran it through a scanner, asked him to empty his pockets, and put his folder and tablet on the table. It was a procedure he’d been through dozens of times. The real test was when he left the building. Usually there was no check. None. He was hoping that was the case this time. Strand was depending on it. Although, with all the missing evidence, things might have changed.

  ‘OK, Detective, you can go in.’

  Adam Strand walked through the detectors, picking up his tablet, folder, and personal items on the other side. He walked down the aisles; he had a good idea where the lock box was that held the printouts. Glancing to the right and to the left, when he finally reached 812 G4, he pulled out the key. He inserted the metal piece into the lock, turned it and the locker opened smoothly. Strand pulled the box out, set it on a long metal table that ran the length of the aisle and took out the spreadsheets, shoving them into the folder. The process took less than one minute. As he pushed the box back into the rack he saw the motion from the corner of his eye.

  ‘Detective Strand?’ A rather stern voice.

  She was dressed in blue, a little chubby for his tastes and he couldn’t quite place her. Didn’t want to place her. Strand wondered how much she’d seen.

  Strand nodded cautiously.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Patrolman Harris,’ she said. ‘You and I met maybe three years ago when a bank robber killed a guard in the Garden District.’

  He did remember.

  Nodding, keeping a close watch on her eyes, he reached out for her hand, shaking it with a firm grasp.

  ‘Good to see you again.’

  She smiled, moving in even closer.

  ‘I always hoped I’d run into you again.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ What the hell do you say?

  The lady smiled again, almost waiting for a more positive response, but he couldn’t think of one.

  ‘So, you’re working on the juvenile judge thing? Quite a buzz.’

  ‘No, not this trip.’ He was Peter after the crucifixion. Deny, deny, deny. ‘Another case, can’t keep track of all of them.’

  ‘Two shootings just this morning over in Bayou Saint John,’ she said. ‘Gangbangers.’

  ‘Hadn’t heard that one.’ Shaking his head, he took a couple of steps, moving away from the woman toward his exit.

  ‘It was good to see you, Detective Strand. I hope we can work together again.’

  He gave her a weak smile, and finally, she moved on. Strand let out a sigh of relief. Another time he might be flattered but not today. Not with the possibility of a forty-thousand-dollar payday or a couple of years in prison playing around in his head. Not today, lady. Sorry.

  Smiling to himself, he glanced up at the ceiling, then the lockers and the walls of the large b
uilding. For whatever reason, there were no cameras anywhere. Like cops could be trusted, but the rest of the world … not so sure. He’d heard rumors that things were about to change. There was a move to put cameras in the room, but money was tight. Hell, if they just took the money that was locked up in the evidence room they could afford cameras. And considering what he was trying to accomplish right now, it was probably a good idea. Strand closed the box and inserted it back into the locker. Empty.

  As he turned he saw a hulking black man, glaring at him from five inches away. The big guy reached out and grabbed Strand’s shoulder.

  ‘Detective.’

  Gripping the folder and tablet tight, he said, ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’

  The man was dressed in a blue blazer, gray slacks and a maroon solid tie. A square jaw and shaved head gave the impression he was a no-nonsense cop.

  Strand’s heart skipped a beat and his stomach rumbled.

  ‘I saw that.’

  Strand took a deep breath. So far he hadn’t transferred the sheets to Paul Trueblood. He hadn’t actually left the building, so there was no real crime committed. Wilting under the man’s gaze he asked the question, hesitantly at best.

  ‘What do you think you saw?’

  The man paused, nodding his head at the departing woman.

  Strand turned and watched the woman who was walking away.

  ‘The lady?’

  ‘Yeah, the lady.’ He smiled, his pearl-white teeth shone against his dark skin.

  ‘I had the impression,’ the man released his grip on Strand’s shoulder, ‘that she was interested in you. Maybe hitting on you. But maybe I was wrong.’

  What is this? High school? Thank God, apparently no one had seen the transfer of the printouts to his black folder.

  ‘I don’t know, but she was cozying up to you pretty good.’

  ‘We worked together on a case a couple of years ago. That’s all.’ And what the hell business is it of yours?

  Strand nodded as the other detective chuckled broadly at the missed opportunity, and walked back up the aisle until he arrived at the exit.

  ‘Quick trip, Detective.’

  ‘It was, Gwen. Had to double check on some information.’