Rules of Engagement (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 11)

by Camilla Chafer

  "Let's get that closet secured. Grab your stuff and we'll go. You need some rest," said Maddox.

  I shook my head. "I can't. There's too much to do."

  "And you have a team of very capable people to do it for you. Stop trying to micro-manage everything. Take a minute and breathe."

  I started to tell him there was no time for that, when my phone rang.

  "I've got my eyes on Mikey Gibbs," said Flaherty.

  I was instantly on alert. "You're sure?"

  "One hundred percent. I've been watching him for an hour to be sure and it's definitely him."

  "Where are you?"

  "Right outside his house. What do you want me to do?"

  That question was even more loaded than Solomon's secret closet. There were several directions I found tempting to follow. I was sure if I asked Flaherty to shoot the man, he would have. I was also pretty sure he would look the other way if I, or anyone else, killed him, and that was rather tempting too. Yet, what about my former thoughts and the need to retain my humanity? Even if I ordered Mikey Gibbs' death, or undertook the job myself, what would become of me? How could my soul live on?

  "We need to call it in," I told him.

  "Just to be clear..." started Flaherty.

  "I mean the police. Don't let him out of your sight. Get Fletcher over there..."

  "He's on his way already," interrupted Flaherty. "The Boston lead was a bust."

  "Good. Is Gibbs armed?"

  "Can't tell. He's wearing baggy jeans, an oversized hoody and a leather vest. The vest has gang colors."

  "What kind of gang are we talking?"

  "The nasty kind. Niners, I think. There're three more guys with him. Two are wearing colors but Fletch and I can take ‘em."

  "No. We need to let the police handle this. I don't particularly care what happens to that guy but I'm sure he didn't decide to shoot Solomon all by himself. We need to know who ordered the hit and why."

  "I can find that out," said Flaherty, his voice darkening.

  "I'm sure you can, but call Garrett first and let him find out without removing Mikey Gibbs' kneecaps. Plus, I sorta like the idea of him sitting in jail for the rest of his life."

  "He doesn't need any kneecaps to sit in jail," Flaherty accurately pointed out.

  "Call Garrett," I repeated, hanging up before I agreed with him and recanted my order.

  "Flaherty found the shooter," I told Maddox. "Let's go."

  "I'm not taking you to the shooter!"

  "I didn't ask you to, but out of curiosity, why not?"

  "Because I heard you say kneecaps and I don't think it's because you want to buy him kneepads."

  "Actually, I want you to take me to the hospital. Garrett can handle this."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes. A life sentence might make this guy talk; and as soon as he does, we can find out who else is involved."

  "If Garrett tells you."

  "He'll tell someone, and someone will tell me," I pointed out. "Or I'll eavesdrop. Same difference."

  ~

  Maddox escorted me to Solomon's room and he discreetly left as I stepped inside. "Thank you," I said, catching his arm when I paused on the threshold.

  "No thanks necessary. I'll be downstairs getting something to eat," he said. "Call me when you're ready for the next step."

  "I don't even know what the next step is."

  "You will when it appears. Until then, I'll reach out to my contacts and see if there's anything relevant to report."

  Delgado nodded to me as I entered the room. "Fletch called," he said. "He said Flaherty told you."

  "He did."

  "Told you what?" asked Serena. She stood up and offered me her chair but I waved the offer away.

  "Nothing, honey," said Delgado. "Just some work-related stuff."

  Serena narrowed her eyes. "I don't see what's so confidential that I can't know."

  "Flaherty found the shooter," I replied, because she was right although I appreciated Delgado's discretion.

  "Is he dead?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Would anyone care if he were?" she asked.

  "He might have more information; so yes, but the police have already been informed so we're waiting to find out what happens next."

  "Huh." She glanced at Solomon, then back at me. "I'll give you two some space," she said as she moved to the door. "Come on, Antonio."

  Delgado looked at me. "It's fine," I assured him. "But don't go too far, please, and also could you get Fletcher and Flaherty back in here as soon as they're finished? You can't be on duty twenty-four hours a day."

  "And they can?"

  "They already got some rest. Plus, I think we might need backup."

  "What happened at Fort Charles?" he asked.

  "I don't know where to begin but I'll tell you soon," I replied, glancing again at Solomon. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him everything that I discovered and urge him to wake up soon. Mostly, I wanted to be alone with him, so I could say all the things I wanted to say without someone listening in. I wanted to tell him how angry I was that I didn't know any of this might happen. And that he'd hidden this part of his life so well from me, but that I loved him anyway.

  "I'll stretch my legs," said Delgado. He left the room with Serena, hand-in-hand.

  I grabbed the chair and pulled it over to Solomon's bedside. As I sat down, I picked up his hand, holding it between my own. "We're getting closer," I told him. "Almost, anyway. I..." My phone rang and I grabbed it, knowing I couldn't ignore it.

  "Amazing thing happened," said Garrett. "One of your guys just called in a sighting and we picked up the shooter." In the background, someone shouted and I heard the wail of a siren. Garrett continued, "What are the chances one of your guys happened to be parked outside Mikey Gibbs' house when they just happened to see him?"

  "No idea! They must be working another case," I said. "Did you catch him?"

  "Sure did. We got him as soon as he came out of his house. He didn't even put up a fight."

  "Really?"

  "But he was surrounded by twenty of Montgomery's finest so he'd be pretty stupid if he had tried anything. We're transporting him to MPD now. He's getting his own convoy."

  "Lucky man," I said dryly.

  "And speaking of lucky, given the amazing coincidences that brought about his capture, I figured I would invite you down to the station to watch the interview. You do want in, right?"

  I sat up straighter and gripped Solomon's hand a little harder. "Of course, I want in," I said.

  "Get down here as fast as you can."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "As sure as I am that you've had your guys scouring the city for this guy, and as sure as I am that you'll find some way to get the information from the interview. Figured I'd save you the hassle and just let you watch and listen."

  "I would never..." I started, then stopped. Garrett didn't seem worried about anything he'd already guessed and trying to deny it was wasting my breath. "I'll be right there," I said as I hung up.

  I returned my phone hand to cover Solomon's again. "We've got another puzzle piece," I told Solomon. I checked his machines, watching the lines on the heart monitor and the pressure on the ventilator. "This will be over soon, I promise. I have to go now but I'll be back soon." I stood, and leaned over him, kissing his cheek. "Hang in there," I told him. "We have a lot of talking to do."

  I emptied my bundle of fresh clothes into the bag I left in the room, hung my damp shirt across the back of the chair, and stepped out, almost colliding with Anastasia and Damien. "You're back," grinned Anastasia, hugging me warmly. She looked at my coat quizzically. "You're not staying then?"

  "I can't. I have to go down to the police station."

  "What happened?" asked Damien.

  "They just took the shooter into custody," I told them.

  "That's great," said Anastasia, looked excitedly between us. "Did he say why he did it?"

  "I don't know
but I hope we'll find out soon. My brother said I can watch and listen to the interview."

  "I'd like to come too," said Damien.

  There was no way I could refuse. "I'm sure that would be okay," I told him, "but I have to leave now."

  "I'll stay with John," said Anastasia. "I don't want to see that animal. Not ever."

  "You don't have to, sis," said Damien.

  "I'll call you as soon as I have news," I told her. "And call me if..."

  "I know, if he wakes up," finished Anastasia. She reached for my hand and squeezed it. "Only positive vibes here. Hurry back."

  I phoned Maddox as Damien and I walked to the elevator. Excitement was building inside me as we traveled down and by the time we reached Maddox in the lobby, I wasn't sure I could contain it. Every step seemed so positive. The sooner we got to the police station, the sooner we could find out exactly what was going on. The reason would finally come out! The shooter would be charged and punished. My questions would be answered. And best of all, the fear that haunted me would finally leave. Solomon would be safe. No one else would dare try to hurt him. The hit was foiled.

  But, deep inside me, I couldn't help listening to the little voice that said it wasn't true.

  Maddox, Damien, and I walked into the police station, like silent, stoic bookends surrounding a currently very unfashionable me.

  My middle brother waited for us, waving before we could approach the desk sergeant.

  "This way," said Daniel. "Garrett's in there already and he asked me to escort you. Maddox, are you joining us?"

  "Yes, if it's okay with Garrett," said Maddox and Daniel nodded.

  "And this is Damien Solomon, Solomon's brother," I told Daniel.

  "Sorry to meet you under these circumstances," said Daniel, shaking his hand. "We'll watch from the adjoining room, through the two-way mirror. Are you familiar with the procedure?" he asked Damien.

  Damien nodded. "I'm a cop too."

  "I didn't know that. Which force?" asked Daniel. He waved to Garrett as he approached us.

  "Boston PD," said Damien. "Are you sure this is the guy?"

  Garrett nodded. "Close to positive. We found a gun in his possession that could have been the weapon used and ballistics are rushing the report. If it matches, we can say we have him," he said. He paused in the corridor and pushed a door open, ushering us inside. Daniel gave me a quick hug before leaving Garrett, Maddox, Damien and me together.

  "I don't have to remind you that you're here purely as a courtesy. Stay in this room. Follow all the procedures. I'll come and get you when we're done," said Garrett.

  I turned to face the two-way mirror. A sick feeling rose in my stomach as I forced my eyes to look at the man who probably shot my fiancé.

  The scrawny kid wasn't what I expected. I imagined a tough guy: a big oaf with a thick neck, stubbled jaw, and dead eyes. I expected to see a muscled body, hewn from years of brawling. Instead, he looked like a kid in his early twenties, scrawny with big eyes that darted around the room. His fingers fidgeted almost constantly, toying with the handcuffs that were secured over a steel bar in the center of the table. His hair looked like it had been cut by someone who really disliked him and his jaw continuously shuffled from side-to-side. He seemed like a tweaker.

  "He's young," I said, my voice no more than a whisper.

  "He's high," said Damien.

  "He's not the ringleader," said Maddox. "No one that strung out could’ve planned a hit."

  "He's definitely no hit man," I said, watching him. On the other side of me, Damien agreed.

  "Solomon will be so insulted," added Damien.

  Maddox held back a laugh. "Damn right," he said, stopping when Garrett entered the interview room. We watched my brother walk over to the table and drop a file onto it. He leaned over and tapped the file.

  "Know what this is?" he asked the twitching young man.

  The man raised his eyes, blinking hard, like he couldn't focus. "No," he said, nearly spitting out the word.

  "It's the information that's going to put you, Mikey Gibbs, inside the big house for the rest of your life."

  "Inside the what?" Mikey asked.

  "Are you serious?" asked Garrett. "Inside. Prison. Jail. The big house!"

  "Naw, man."

  "Yes, man!" Garrett slapped his hand on the table and the twitching man jumped before slumping in defeat again. "We have enough evidence to ensure you won't see sunlight for more than an hour a day for a very, very long time."

  "I can do a year. No problem. I don't like living on the outside anyway," Mikey mumbled.

  "It won't be a year, Mikey, no, it will be years. As in decades. You shot a man, Mikey."

  "Says who?"

  Garrett extended a forefinger and tapped the file. "Says all the evidence, Mikey. We already have the gun you were carrying, without a permit, I might add, and ballistics are testing it now. So, here's what's going to happen. You have until the time when I receive a report that tells me everything I need to know. I'll throw in a good word for the judge and tell them how you cooperated. That might shave a few years off your sentence, and you might get to see your mom before she dies..."

  "She's already dead."

  "What about your dad?"

  "Wherever he is," mumbled Mikey. His eyelids began to droop. The moment Garrett slammed his hand on the table, he jerked upright, wide awake again.

  "I don't care what you want outta life," said Garrett, "but I'm trying to make it crystal clear to you that you're never going to see it again. You're being charged with attempted murder and a bunch of lesser charges. You've got a single chance right now to make a deal that could result in sparing your pitiful life, or else I'm gonna come down on you like a ton of..."

  "Shit?"

  "Bricks, Mikey. Bricks!" Garrett pulled out the chair and sat down heavily. He folded his arms across his chest and waited. "Start talking, Mikey. Tell me why you shot a man when he appeared at his own front door."

  "I never shot no one..."

  "Cut the crap! When we picked you up an hour ago, you had a gun stuck in your waistband, one that matches the bullets the surgeons pulled out of John Solomon a couple of days ago. Now, I don't see any connection between the two of you, so what I want to know is, why did you shoot him?"

  "Maybe I ain't got no reason."

  "So you did shoot him?"

  "Wait! I never said nothin’ about shootin’ no black dude."

  "How did you know what color he was? I didn't say."

  "You did! You said!"

  "No, Mikey, I did not. Why'd you do it?"

  "I..."

  "Two shots. Two shots point blank to his chest. You were seen fleeing the scene on a motorcycle, the one we found dumped down by the train tracks near Frederickstown."

  "Ain’t mine."

  "We know it's not yours! It was reported stolen two days before you rode it into Chilton and shot a man at point blank range!" yelled Garrett, leaning in closer. With his back to us, I couldn't see the expression on his face but I was sure it must have been menacing. Mikey didn't seem to think so. He smiled lazily at Garrett before looking around the room, his eyes flitting too quickly to notice any details.

  "I don't have a motorcycle license," he said.

  "Well, then, you're free to go," said Garrett, throwing his hands in the air. "We have obviously made a huge mistake. You don't have a motorcycle license and you don't own the motorcycle that we have on video of you riding. You can go home now. So sorry for any inconvenience. Sit! Down!" he yelled when Mikey started to stand up to leave. "Don't you know what sarcasm is?" he shouted. "I don't give two shits that you don't have a motorcycle license. I found your wallet next to the burned out motorcycle and you, in case you hadn't noticed, still stink of kerosene."

  Mikey sniffed and shrugged.

  Garrett held up his hand, pointing to his fingers as he counted, "One, your gun. Two, you stink of gasoline. Three, your wallet was found near the burned out motorcycle. Four, I have a tape of
you leaving the scene in a car registered to your brother. Five... do I really need a number five? I think there's already enough evidence against you to warrant a long sentence without the possibility of parole."

  The door to the interview room opened and Garrett held up a hand, pausing Mikey from whatever inane excuse he was about to give. "Got it, Lieutenant," said the detective at the door. He stepped inside and handed a sealed manila envelope to my brother before he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

  "This is your last chance," said Garrett. "When I open this envelope, I will find exactly what I expect to find, and there will be no more talk of plea bargains or any deals. I will nail you for the maximum punishment I can get. I will present all the evidence to the DA and dig through every single day of your miserable life to find every microscopic, nasty, little wart on you and I will show it all to the jury. When they put me on the stand, I will tell them how uncooperative and remorseless you are. Your choice, Mikey. I suggest you start talking and do it fast."

  Mikey glanced at the envelope and gulped. "I was paid two thousand bucks to shoot the guy. Jack Solomon," he said.

  "John Solomon," corrected Garrett.

  "Whatever. A man comes up to me in a bar..."

  "This better have a damn good punchline that doesn't involve a rabbi and a priest," said Garrett.

  "No rabbis and priests go to that bar," said Mikey, barely pausing, "This dude comes up to me. He's a big shot. Not the kingpin but as good as. They have an empire, you know? Money, girls, everything. They’re the main suppliers who run all the drugs in and outta Montgomery. I was a probate, see? So he says it's a way for me to get in on the gang. I pop this Solomon guy and I get two thousand bucks and a lifetime membership, but it wasn't no hit, I swear."

  "If it wasn't a hit, what was it?"

  Mikey looked up. "It was s’posed to be a clear warning."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "A clear warning? What kind of clear warning?" asked Garrett.

  "Ah, man. I don't ask questions. I was just happy to get a job." Mikey offered a lazy smile that I was sure Garrett didn't return.