Done Rubbed Out: Reightman & Bailey Book One

by Jeffery Craig

  ♦♦♦

  On Sunday, Melba enjoyed her morning, and made herself a decadent breakfast of fried bacon and waffles – something she rarely indulged in. She changed into a pair of jeans and a loose cotton shirt and pulled her hair up under a hat.

  She wasn’t officially on duty today but was still on call. After thinking through options for her afternoon, she decided that she’d head out to the shooting range to brush up on her skills. Her firearm recertification was coming up in a few weeks and she knew she’d better get in some practice while she could. “You never know when you’ll have to be prepared,” she reminded herself as she retrieved her weapon from the small gun safe and gathered up the rest of her things.

  She called Sam on the off chance he’d tag along and brush up his own skills, but he happily informed her he was planning to spend the day with his wife, grilling some steaks and maybe getting in a little afternoon nap. Thirty minutes later she walked onto the shooting range and, after a few rounds, began to find her groove. After another thirty minutes she checked her results with satisfaction, convinced her re-cert would be a piece of cake.

  She left feeling a mellow sense of satisfaction with her day. On a whim, she made a slight detour on her way home to drive down Capital Street. All the businesses appeared to be closed, but she did notice the brick façade of the Time Out Spa looked pretty good, although she could tell work had been done.

  Reightman returned to the condo and locked up the gun then tried to decide what to fix for dinner. She finally pulled out some defrosted chicken and started up her small charcoal grill. Soon she was settled in front of her TV enjoying an old movie she remembered as being fun. She had an early night and fell asleep quickly.

  Monday morning she woke with a slight headache, but powered through a shower. She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned on the outdated stereo to keep her company.

  A few minutes later she checked her voicemail and discovered to her disgust and disappointment that she and Sam would be needed to cover the crowd that was expected to attend the fireworks display planned for that evening to close out the Labor Day celebration. “That shoots the joy right out of the day,” she muttered into her coffee, thinking about the amount of money the city was spending. “I guess they’ve gotta give the people bread and circuses, especially during an election year.” She called Sam to coordinate where they’d meet, and to verify the time. She then dug out an old paperback crime mystery and amused herself with the improbable story to pass the afternoon. Around six o’clock, she put down the unintentionally hysterical book, and pulled some comfortable clothes from her closet.

  She checked her phone and discovered a call from Toby Bailey. Melba frowned as she recalled their last meeting and then dropped the phone in her jacket pocket. “I’ll call him tomorrow.” She retrieved her gun and picked up purse and keys and went to meet her partner.

  ♦♦♦

  Toby Bailey stopped by his apartment just long enough to drop off his clothes and make a sandwich. He hurriedly wolfed down the pimento cheese and hunk of bread, taking an occasional drink of lukewarm water to wash it down. “Slow down, Toby,” he told himself after he choked on a piece of the bread. “It’ll still be there in another few minutes.” He couldn’t explain the sense of urgency building inside him, but he knew it was steering him to the lockbox, and whatever answers Geri had left for him. He checked his ring of keys to make sure he had the lockbox key and then ran down the stairs to his car. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a small shopping center and ran to the door, his satchel slapping lightly against his hip. The place was deserted, with iron bars pulled down between the after-hours access area and the small section of the store that sold office supplies and made keys while you waited. He eventually located the banks of metal boxes in a small hallway, and after a convoluted search he located the one he needed. He knelt on the floor in front of box 529 and inserted the key.

  Toby pulled out a large brown envelope, containing paper of some sort, and another envelope he could feel held another key and something else, small and hard with a thick, short metal wire on one end. He reached back in and pulled out a small ledger notebook which when he flipped quickly through the pages, appeared to have numeric entries and dates with names listed beside the rows of numbers. He reached in one more time, and pulled out a small note with his name printed on the front. Checking with his outstretched hand to make sure he’d retrieved everything, he then placed his face to the opening and looked inside to double check. Satisfied he had everything, he stuffed the items into his satchel and locked the box. He stood slowly to his feet, and reached out a hand to steady himself against the bank of boxes. His heart was racing, and he stood in the empty hallway as he tried to catch his breath. “Slow and steady, Toby,” he breathed. “You have what you need now.”

  He exited the building after checking to be sure no one was watching, although why he felt the need, he didn’t know. “It’s probably just nerves.” He unlocked his car and got in, pulling out of the space to drive to the other end of the parking lot. There, he placed the car into idle, and reached for the satchel. He opened the small envelope that was addressed with his name, and read. Toby closed his eyes for a moment and then quickly stuffed the note back in the envelope before pulling out the larger one made of brown paper. He looked through the images it contained. After recovering from his shock, he carefully slid the photos back in between the brown paper covering, refastening the brass brads with shaking hands.

  Suddenly overcome by what he’d seen, he opened the door and heaved a few times, before slowly sitting up and pulling the door closed again. Toby leaned his head on the steering wheel as a series of sharp, painful sobs racked his body. After a couple of minutes he wiped his face and then pulled out the ledger book. He carefully read through the entries, noting some familiar names. He stuffed the brown envelope and the book back into the satchel. He didn’t open the envelope containing the key and the other object. He already knew what one of the items was, and the other could wait. He sat in the car, letting the cool air wash over his face. He finally opened the door, and got out to lock the satchel and the information it held in the trunk.

  Toby got back in and fastened his seat belt. After driving a block or two, he was shaking so badly he could barely drive. He pulled over to a small diner and got out of the car, locking it before making his slow, labored way to the door. He paused just outside and worked to control his breathing before entering the diner. A sign near the front indicated he should feel free to seat himself, so he searched for an empty booth. He located one and made his way to the back of the space, not even glancing at the people seated near him. When the waitress handed him a menu he ordered black coffee before understanding that if he was going to occupy a booth, he was expected to order something to eat. He asked for the special.

  “Breakfast special, lunch special, or dinner special?” she asked. “We serve all three, all day.” He ordered dinner, and watched as she walked away. Once she was gone Toby pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his contact list. He located the name he needed and pressed the button to make the call. When the call went to voicemail, he left a message. “Detective Reightman – please call me back as soon as you get this message. Geri left some things for me and I think…I think that they’re tied to his murder. There are a lot of pictures and a list of financial transactions tied to some really important people. He was messed up in some really dangerous stuff and I think someone had him killed because of the information and pictures he had. Please – it’s really important. I’m going to the spa soon and I can meet you there any time tonight, no matter the time…and… I’m sorry – for the way I acted last week.” He hung up the phone and put it back into his pocket before picking up his coffee and gulping down the hot liquid, not bothering to add cream and sugar.

  Toby waited for the food he didn’t want, and never noticed the man sitting alone in the booth behind him. He wouldn’t have recognized him if he had noticed,
because he had never seen the man before.

  After listening to Toby’s conversation, John Brown pulled out his own phone and typed a few words. A few minutes later, a text came back:

  POP HIM 2NITE

  John Brown exchanged a few more texts, eventually agreeing on a price he could live with to take care of this particular problem. After all, it was in his best interest to do so.

  A short while later, he counted out some money and laid it on top of his bill. He included a good tip for the waitress. He was a regular here and he knew she’d appreciate it. After all, everyone had to make a living these days.

  John Brown walked out of the diner, wondering who he could convince to help him. “Better have back-up on this one. The timing is going to be tricky.” He started his vehicle and drove away, looking at the early evening sky. “Time to get to work. The fireworks are about to begin.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  REIGHTMAN MET UP with Jackson near the entrance of Riverfront Park. Unlike the park in the center of the city, Riverfront Park sprawled long and lean along the river, with both sides connected by a series of pedestrian bridges, as well as by two four lane vehicular crossings, one at each end. The park was popular with the locals, who enjoyed the numerous walking and biking trails as well as the opportunities the slow moving river afforded for canoeing and kayaking during the warmer months.

  Reightman appreciated the park’s many offerings and the city did a fine job keeping it maintained, but she hated patrolling because of difficulties presented by the multiple bridge crossings.

  “Where do you want to start?” Jackson asked, as he eyed a group of college-aged partiers who looked like they’d stop to sample the wares at every beer truck and booth operating along the river since late afternoon.

  Reightman considered the options as she gave the crowd a once over. “Why don’t we start with the far side and work our way back as the evening progresses? That way, we’ll be over here and much closer to our cars when this shindig is over.”

  “That’s why you make the big bucks, Reightman – always thinking of the exit plan.” Jackson led the way to a nearby concession booth and purchased a couple of bottles of chilled water. “I think we can take our sweet time making it to the other side,” he observed as he handed her one of the bottles. “We still have a couple of hours before the big show starts.” She took the water from him and saw him sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”

  Reightman unscrewed the cap of her water and took a long drink. “Bug spray. I figured since I’m so sweet, I’d need extra protection from all the hungry mosquitoes. I’d just as soon not be their evening buffet.” Jackson grimaced and took a drink of his own water while she thought over his comment about the starting time of the show. “You’re right. We have plenty of time. Let’s walk down to the second footbridge. We can cross there as well as anywhere.”

  As they made their way through the small but growing crowd, Reightman noted the generally pleasant mood of the attendees. A few celebrants had obviously been well served, like the college students they’d spotted earlier. Thankfully, the party gods were apparently spreading good cheer tonight, rather than the mixture of anger, aggression and just plain meanness liberal alcohol consumption sometimes engendered. “I’ll take the good cheer and mellow vibe,” she decided. “And I hope those capricious deities don’t get bored and decide to send us some trouble – just to liven things up.”

  She noticed groups of families and friends starting to spread blankets on the wide grassy banks, and unfold chairs and open coolers containing cold beverages and munchies. Everyone was getting comfortable before the show stated. While they strolled toward the agreed upon crossing point, Reightman remembered the times her own family had attended similar events, and found herself smiling at her recollection of those happy days when Abby was still young and untouched by life’s little surprises.

  Jackson noticed her reflective mood. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “They’re not worth much more than a penny,” she replied with a smile. “I was just remembering when Abby wasn’t much older than those two over there.” They stopped to watch a couple of young children being herded back to their safe spot among the rest of their family. “Abby loved outings like this, and it was always such fun to see her discover new things. I still remember her surprised face the first time we took her to see fireworks.” They continued walking, now just a few yards from the second bridge. “It seems like those days were such a long time ago. I forget Abby is all grown up and has little ones of her own.”

  “How are the girls doing, Melba?”

  “They’re doing great and giving their mother a run for her money!” They stepped up to the bridge and started across. “Abby has a new romantic interest. I’m going to meet him over the weekend if things work out.”

  “Good for her,” Sam approved. “How long has it been since she was serious about anyone?

  “Abby hasn’t really been serious about anyone since her divorce, and that was nearly four years ago.” Melba stepped aside to allow an elderly couple to pass. She smiled at the sight of them making their way across the bridge arm-in-arm, providing support to each other on their evening stroll.

  “It’s about time for her to be stickin’ her toe back in the water then. She’ll do just fine.”

  They reached the other side of the footbridge and met Jones and Mitchell beginning to cross back over to the other side. Reightman noticed the younger man was in plain clothes rather than suited out in a uniform. “His provisional promo must be sticking,” Reightman thought with approval. “Good for him! I hope he’ll get the right training and mentoring to go as far as he wants.”

  “If it isn’t the terrible twosome,” Jackson greeted them. “You headed back to work the other side?’

  “No, thank the good Lord,” Jones replied. “We were on duty all of yesterday, and most of the day before. We got fairly light duty today – just the early hours. We’ve now officially done our time.”

  “Are you staying for the show?” Reightman asked the both of them.

  “I think I’ll hang around. I don’t have anything better planned for the night,” the younger cop said. “You mind if I hang with you two?”

  “Not at all, Mitchell,” Jackson assured him. “You can help me keep old lady Reightman in line.”

  Reightman shot him an evil glare before turning to Jones. “You want to stay with us old, broken-down geriatrics?”

  Jones laughed. “As pleasant as it sounds, I think I’m going to hunt down a cold beer or two on the way home. I’ve had about all the crowds I can take.” He started across the bridge and added, “Try to keep Mitchell in line. I think he has all the makings of a proper hell raiser.”

  “We’ll do our very best,” Jackson assured him as they waved him off and started down the other side of the river. “Has there been any trouble over on this side, Mitchell?”

  “No, sir, not a bit. We did help one very out-of-it frat boy find his friends. That’s been all the excitement so far.”

  Their party of three walked the river’s edge for the next hour as the evening began to turn to night. They only had to intervene once: a rapidly escalating family argument was quickly settled when Reightman gave the mouthy mother-in-law, who was fanning the flames of discord, the option between calling it an evening and heading – quietly—home. The alternative she offered was spending the next several hours enjoying the fine hospitality of the city jail. The woman wisely chose to pack up her folding chair and go on home.

  Reightman looked up river and could see the fireworks barge in the distance, moored about a hundred yards upstream from the dramatically lit bridge arches. From the activity on board, it appeared they were almost ready to start the show.

  “Looks like they are about to begin,” she pointed out to her two escorts.

  Jackson located a position near the back of the grassy riverbank, where they could observe both the show and the attendees. Moments later, the first rocket launche
d from the barge, painting the sky with hot, fiery bursts of color. Another followed in quick succession, and then another, punctuated by loud rumbling booms and the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ of the crowd.

  “There goes next year’s raise,” Jackson grumbled as sparkling light illuminated the area. “Blown all to hell in the sky.”

  “I think it’s pretty cool,” Mitchell said.

  Reightman and Jackson turned to him and said, in unison, “Of course you do.”

  They laughed at his feigned expression of hurt as another burst of light spread trails of red and gold and silver across the sky. Just as another rocket launched, the phone in Reightman’s pocket buzzed and vibrated, indicating she’d received a voicemail. She pulled it out and looked at the number, frowning.

  “Who could possibly be calling that puts that scowl on your face?” Jackson asked.

  “Toby Bailey. He left another voicemail.”

  “Another voicemail?” At her nod, Jackson asked “Has something else happened at his business?”

  “I don’t know,” Reightman admitted. “I haven’t listened to his first one. I thought it could wait until tomorrow. Given his attitude the last time we met, I didn’t feel obliged to immediately respond.”

  “It won’t hurt anything to see what he has to say.”

  Reightman thought about just putting the phone back into her packet and dealing with it tomorrow. But as Jackson continued to look her way, she decided she might as well see what Toby wanted and turned away slightly to shield some of the noise. She accessed voicemail and listened to the message, straining to hear over the sound of fireworks and crowd noise. She played through both messages and then listened to the first again, making sure that she had heard correctly.

  “Detective, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Mitchell exclaimed as she turned around.

  “In a way, maybe I have or at least received a message from one.” Reightman took another look at the phone in her hand and then turned to Jackson. “Toby says he found something, or rather, Gerald Guzman left him some things he thinks tie directly to Guzman’s murder. He says there are photos and an account ledger, complete with the names of multiple clients.” When Jackson didn’t respond, she added, “He wants to meet tonight if possible.”