Jessie Black Legal Thrillers Box Set 1

by Larry A Winters

  “Thanks,” LaVine said.

  “Reggie.” Jessie spoke his name in a warning tone.

  “Fine, fine.” He flashed another smile at LaVine. “Look me up after the trial, we can meet at the prison.”

  “Can you at least confirm that the men who have attacked the courthouse today are trying to kill you?” LaVine said.

  “Well, one of them sure as hell was. But I ain’t so easy to kill. I got some moves.”

  “We have no comment at this time,” Jessie spoke over him.

  “Do the police know who’s behind the attack?”

  “No comment.”

  “What about the guard who let these men into the courthouse with their weapons?” LaVine glanced at her pad. “Reed Estrada? Is it true he had crippling gambling debts, and that courthouse security was completely unaware of this vulnerability?”

  “Where did you hear that?” Jessie said.

  LaVine arched her eyebrows. “Finally, a subject you’ll talk about.”

  “Off the record,” Jessie said.

  “Okay. Off the record, I’ll tell you what I know, and you’ll give me something in return.”

  “What?” Jessie said warily.

  “A quote I can use.”

  “A quote?” Reggie said. “I already gave you, like, three awesome quotes.”

  “From you,” LaVine said. Her gaze was on Jessie.

  “Fine,” Jessie said.

  “I overheard two of the deputies talking. Apparently the police pulled Estrada’s financials and figured out he was deep in debt. He was making regular trips to Atlantic City. He was close to losing everything. The police think someone leveraged his situation to get his help.”

  “Someone offered him money? Who?”

  “That’s all I heard.”

  “Who were the deputies you heard this from?”

  LaVine pointed across the room at Fincher, then at Rais. “Them. Now it’s your turn. One quote I can use. Make it good.”

  Jessie bit her lip. She could get in serious trouble with her office if she spoke out of turn about today’s events. On the other hand, making an enemy of a reporter wouldn’t rank as a great career move either, and it was hard to imagine anyone getting overly upset about her behavior while she was trapped in a building with killers. And a deal was a deal—she liked to honor her promises.

  “How’s this? ‘I was almost killed this morning in one of the attorney-client conference rooms near the holding cells. It was terrifying.’”

  “Kind of dry, to be honest,” LaVine said.

  “Best I can do on short notice.”

  LaVine’s cherubic smile returned. “I’ll take it.”

  “Wait here,” Jessie said to Reggie a few minutes after LaVine had moved on. “And don’t talk to anyone. Especially reporters.”

  Reggie shifted his body uncomfortably. Now that LaVine was no longer here to distract him, he’d returned to complaining about their seats on the floor. “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to Deputy Rais. I want to find out more about what the police learned about Estrada.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there might be something useful, some clue.” She was already wondering if Leary had been apprised of this development, and how it would fit into his theory about Miguel Silba. She intended to call him as soon as she heard Rais’s version.

  “I want to hear it, too,” Reggie said.

  He started to get up. She put a hand on his arm and stopped him. “Mo won’t talk about it in front of you. You’re a convicted felon. He might not even want to talk to me, but if you’re standing next to me, there’s no way I’ll get the full story.”

  Reggie blew air from his lips in a display of disappointment as exaggerated as all of his other mannerisms. “This is some bullshit.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she assured him.

  Rais was no longer talking to Fincher. He was standing near the judge’s bench, watching the crowd with a weary expression. The attackers had not made a move on the courtroom yet, and Jessie sensed that the room’s protectors were being lulled into a false sense of security. Rais looked bored, even sleepy. He didn’t even seem to notice her approaching him until she said his name.

  “Oh, hey,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

  “It’s nerve-racking, but I’m hanging in there.” She used the word “I” instead of “we” for a reason. Rais’s gaze had already moved in Reggie’s direction, and she wanted Rais to see her as an officer of the court, not as the buddy of a convict. “Has there been any news?”

  “Not really.”

  She lowered her voice. “What about Estrada? I heard the police found some new information about his involvement.”

  Rais’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Where did you hear that?”

  Jessie shrugged. “We’re all jammed in a small room. Word travels. He was a compulsive gambler?”

  Rais hesitated, then leaned closer to her and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “The police think he was desperate for money and took a bribe.”

  “That’s good,” Jessie said. “If they can trace the money he was paid, they can find out who’s behind this and stop it.”

  Rais sighed. “Right. Only there wasn’t any money. Not that the police could find in his bank account, anyway. He’s as broke today as he was yesterday. I mean, he was as broke. Before he died. You know what I mean.”

  She was about to ask him to let her know if he heard anything else, when the doors to the courtroom opened. Jessie felt a surge of fear and panic, and saw Rais reach for his gun. They must have realized around the same time that the person entering the room was Kenny Rodriguez. Rais exhaled a sigh of relief and holstered his gun. Jessie took a deep breath of her own.

  Rodriguez saw Rais and jogged toward them. He seemed to have shrugged off the depression that had burdened him after he’d killed the gunman in the conference room. His face was flushed, his eyes shined, and Jessie thought she even saw the hint of a smile on his lips. He had his cell phone clutched in one hand.

  He reached Jessie and Rais, not even pausing to catch his breath. “Security just called me. They got a hit on the fingerprints I took.”

  “They identified the hitman?” Jessie said. She felt her own rush of excitement. First the revelation about Reed, and now an identification of the would-be killer. Justice was catching up to the bad guys just in time.

  “His name is Dane Brigg,” Rodriguez said.

  “Criminal record?” Rais said.

  Rodriguez shook his head. “Nope. Military. Had his fingerprints taken by the United States Marine Corps.” He looked pleased by the news. “I knew the guy was a soldier. I could tell. He was honorably discharged last year. Been living in Florida, working odd jobs.”

  “What’s a Marine, with no criminal record, who lives in Florida, doing breaking into a courthouse and trying to kill a witness in a local murder trial in Philly?” Jessie said.

  “Too bad we can’t ask him,” Rais said. He must have caught the look of dejection that momentarily flickered across Rodriguez’s face, because he added, “Not that he was likely to talk.”

  “No,” Rodriguez agreed. “He was a hard case.”

  “We should run the name by Reggie, see if it means anything to him,” Jessie said.

  Rodriguez nodded. “Good idea. Where is he?”

  Jessie looked over at the wall where she had left Reggie sitting, and her breath caught. He was gone. She looked around the crowded courtroom, scanning faces. Reggie was nowhere to be seen. “Damn it.”

  Rais let out a rueful laugh and shook his head. “Guy is nothing but trouble.”

  “We need to find him,” Jessie said. “His life could be in danger.”

  “We?” Rais said.

  “She’s right,” Rodriguez said. “Jessie can’t go out looking for him alone. You go with her. I’ll take over your post here.”

  Rais tried to shrug off their concerns. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? He probably we
nt to take a piss.”

  “He could be killed taking a piss,” Jessie said.

  “If he can tell us who Dane Brigg is, that could be the break we need,” Rodriguez said.

  Rais looked at him, then at Jessie. She held his stare. After a few seconds passed, he sighed. “I’ll walk with you to check out the men’s room. But that’s it. I’m needed here, to protect innocent people. If Tuck’s stupid enough to wander off the reservation, that’s his problem.”

  “Let’s go,” Jessie said.

  “I need to use the john anyway.” Rais spoke with casual indifference, but Jessie noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he drew his gun, checked the chamber, and holstered it again.

  18

  Leary was about to leave Miguel Silba’s apartment when his cell phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, which lit up with Kareem Chancey’s name. Chancey? When Chancey had sent him to investigate Reggie, Leary had partly suspected his real motivation was just to get him out of his way. The thought that the high-ranking cop had actually made him a part of the crisis team, even in an ancillary role, brought a surge of excitement. He knew it was stupid—especially on a day when a woman he cared about was in danger—but he couldn’t help it. If a man like Chancey took notice of his talent, things could finally open up to him at the PPD. His stalled career could get back on track.

  He looked at Silba and said, “You mind if I take this real quick?”

  Silba stared at him, incredulous. “The bitch in the bedroom, man, she charges by the hour.”

  Leary held up a finger. “One minute.” Then he turned his back on the man. “Lieutenant.”

  “Leary. You turn up anything interesting in Tuck’s history?”

  “I’ve got a few leads.”

  “We just received a fingerprint match on the gunman in the courthouse who took a shot at Ms. Black. His name was Dane Brigg. Marine Corps. No criminal record. Florida resident. I have people working on it now, trying to learn more, but I wanted to check if the name has come up in your investigation of Tuck.”

  “No,” Leary said. He had a hundred questions, but didn’t want to say too much in front of Silba. He could feel the man’s stare boring into his back. “I’ll see what I can find, though.”

  “Do that.”

  Chancey disconnected and Leary put his phone away. “You gonna leave now?” Silba said, “or you feel like making a few more calls?”

  “No more calls, but I have a few more questions.”

  “Oh, come on, man!” Silba was actually dancing in place, a look of pain in his eyes.

  “You were in prison for months. Is waiting five more minutes to sleep with your prostitute really going to give you such serious blue balls?”

  “I told you, she charges for her time.”

  “Who’s Dane Brigg?”

  Silba shook his head with frustration, like a man struggling to communicate with someone speaking another language. “How the fuck should I know?”

  “He was a Marine. You were Army.”

  “You think I know every motherfucker in the armed services?”

  “I only care if you know Brigg.”

  “Well I don’t. I never heard his name in my life.”

  Leary watched Silba carefully for signs of dishonesty, but he didn’t see any. He certainly wasn’t avoiding eye contact, glaring at Leary as if he could puncture him with the force of his stare. No unusual body language, either. He doubted the man had much capacity for duplicity anyway. Silba struck him as a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy.

  “Okay?” Silba said. “We done?”

  “We’re done, but,” Leary handed the man his card, “after I leave, I want you—”

  “You leave, I’m gonna get with my whore.”

  “But after that,” Leary said, drawing out the words, “I want you to think hard about the name Dane Brigg. If anything comes back to you, anything, call me immediately. I’ll make it worth your while.” Leary turned and headed for the door.

  “Hold up,” Silba said. “What do you mean, worth my while? Is there a reward or something?”

  Leary didn’t bother to turn. “If the information is good, there will be a reward. But don’t come to me with lies, like Tuck. That doesn’t work with me.”

  “What do you mean, like Tuck? Reggie’s a rat, but he’s not a liar.”

  That made Leary turn. “Of course he’s a liar. He’s a con artist.”

  Silba shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I thought you were talking about his testimony at my trial.”

  “Tuck’s testimony was true? You told him you committed those crimes?”

  Silba’s angry stare vanished, replaced with an expression that could only be described as sheepish. He dropped onto his threadbare couch and looked up at Leary, as if about to confess something shameful. “Sometimes, being locked up, it makes a person do stupid things.”

  Leary felt a moment’s hesitation. Had he misjudged Tuck when he’d assumed the man traded in lies and perjury? “Why would you confess to him? A man you hardly knew?”

  Silba shrugged. “I thought we were friends.” Then, a little bashfully, he said, “Can you please leave now?”

  Five minutes later, Leary emerged from the gloom of Silba’s run-down apartment building with mixed feelings. The encounter had not provided any useful information about the intruders in the courthouse, but it had shown him that he had been operating under certain assumptions about Reginald Tuck—that he was a liar, for example—which might be false.

  Chancey had tasked him with investigating Tuck, but how much had Leary really learned about the man who appeared to be the focus of the attack on the courthouse?

  He climbed into his car, closed the door, and started the engine. The car’s air-conditioning buffeted his face. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

  Then he turned his car around and headed back to the District Attorney’s Office.

  Leary was halfway across the lobby of the DA’s Office when he heard his name called out behind him. He turned to see Isaac Jacoby jogging toward him. Leary stopped walking and waited for the man to catch up.

  “I was about to call you,” Leary said, “to check in.”

  “Right.” Jacoby bent over, visibly struggling to catch his breath, and Leary felt a pang of guilt for asking the man to venture into the dangerous Mantua neighborhood on his behalf. The place made Silba’s hood look like Beverly Hills.

  “Did you check out Tuck’s last known address?”

  “Where do you think I was? Hawaii?”

  Leary noticed a bag clutched in Jacoby’s right hand. “You found something?”

  “Don’t get too excited. There wasn’t much there. A few junkies squatting in the house, everything sold off to keep them high. It’s unlikely Tuck was living there any time recently.”

  “Well he’s been living in prison recently.” Leary bit back his frustration. It wasn’t Jacoby’s fault the lead had been another dead end. “Thanks for looking.”

  “Hold on a second,” Jacoby said quickly. “I’ve got more.”

  “You just said—”

  “Listen, will you? The house wasn’t completely empty. I found a gun underneath a loose floorboard. A .38 caliber revolver, a little dusty but otherwise in good condition. Loaded, too.” He hefted the bag.

  “Probably belonged to one of the squatters,” Leary said. He felt his body leaning toward the elevators, which he hoped would lead him to more valuable information.

  “Probably,” Jacoby said. “But I’m going to have the serial number run for the hell of it. Maybe it’s the former homicide detective in me. Leave no stone unturned.”

  Leary nodded. “Worth a shot, I guess.”

  “You here to go through Tuck’s informant file again?”

  “No, there wasn’t anything useful in it. I’m interested in a different file this time.”

  Jacoby raised his eyebrows. “Care to share?”

  Leary sighed, and forced down the part of him that was in a rush to
get upstairs. Jacoby was a friend, and more than that, an excellent detective who might have helpful ideas. “I’m thinking I was too focused on the people Tuck testified against after he went to prison. There’s a whole other group of people who would bear just as big a grudge against the man. His victims.”

  Jacoby nodded. “Good thinking.” He looked at his watch. “Go ahead. I won’t hold you up any longer. I’ll call you if the serial number on the revolver leads anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Isaac.”

  “Anytime.”

  Leary took the elevator. Warren Williams met him upstairs and walked with him to a conference room down the hall from the one where everyone was still watching the news coverage of the courthouse. A striking Asian woman waited alone in the room. She had a folder open in front of her on the conference table and was paging through its contents.

  “This is Melody Yang,” Warren said. “She’s an Assistant DA in the Economic Crimes Unit. Melody was the prosecutor assigned to Tuck’s trial.”

  Yang rose from her chair and extended her hand. There was something overly formal about her movements, but there was a gracefulness as well. Leary could imagine the impression she must make on a jury—controlled, confident, and elegant. He shook her hand. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me on short notice,” he said.

  “I remember the Tuck case well. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” Warren said. “Good luck.”

  When he left, Leary and Yang took seats at the conference table. “Warren told you why I asked to speak with you?” Leary said.

  “He said it has to do with what’s happening at the CJC. The men who smuggled weapons inside the building are trying to harm Reggie Tuck?”

  “What we know is that one of the men, a former Marine named Dane Brigg, made an attempt on Tuck’s life.”

  “And you’re hoping I can help you figure out who’s behind the attack and why? By finding a connection to Tuck’s trial?”

  “To Tuck’s crimes,” Leary said. “I’m hoping you can help me understand exactly what Tuck did, and who his victims were.”

  “I see.” Yang took a breath. “Well, Tuck is what you’d colloquially call a con artist. He was under investigation for multiple crimes, most of which would be classified as fraud.”