Enemy in Blue

by Derek Blass

  “In any event, you can cut out the criticism.” Sphinx looked around at the busy café. The people's swarm was enough to generate a low-level white noise, sufficient to mask their conversation. “I started digging a bit and the ground fell out from beneath me like sand.”

  “Digging at what?”

  “The case, Judge Melburn, our facts, everything. I spent nearly a week straight pouring over the case documents. I should have moved on, but something wouldn't let me.”

  “Sphinx, that's called conscience.”

  “It's a bitch. Day and night I looked for something to justify my own work and the reason we won. But I couldn't find it. We won because that video was excluded, plain and simple, and I had no idea why it was excluded until I got to Shaver's trial notes.”

  “He was taking notes during trial?”

  “Yes, almost a full yellow pad. Ramblings, sketching, thoughts on jurors, the judge, me.”

  “How were his notes relevant to the video though?” Sphinx looked into Cruz's eyes with an intensity and simultaneous softness, almost an “I'm sorry,” that caught Cruz off guard. “You aren't going to cry, are you?”

  Sphinx snickered and pulled a piece of yellow paper from a pocket inside his suit jacket. He put the paper on the table in front of himself, paused a moment, and then slid it over to Cruz with all the ominousness of an undercover delivery of a package of top secret information. Cruz put his hand on the piece of paper and just as he was about to pick it up, Sphinx stopped Cruz with his own hand. They looked at each other—one man bewildered, the other impassioned.

  “You need some context first. I was alone, confused and trying to figure out what had happened. I played no part in any of it.”

  Cruz removed his hand from the paper and sat back, his sunken eyes peering at Sphinx. The week since the trial had offered no catharsis or rest for him either. Raul was facing charges of first degree murder. The case against him seemed to be tight. His only defense was heat of the passion, based upon the loss of his legs. It was an attenuated argument since so much time had passed between when he lost his legs and when he killed Shaver. Cruz tried to explain this to Carmen once, but she just shook her head and wept. For what it was worth, Raul seemed at peace with his decision.

  Sandra had been elevated to a position of deity within the news station for uncovering such a hog of a story. She was promoted to the female anchor on the evening news, and in the midst of a drunken wake after the trial, Cruz proposed to her. He reconfirmed the intention with her the next day when they both weren't so trashed, although both of them had kept the engagement secret so far.

  Martinez retired from the police force, overwhelmed with a mixture of shame, pride, satisfaction and disappointment. Shame from being associated with a monster like Shaver, and the shame which he unfairly squared on his shoulders related to the trial loss. Cruz rubbed his forehead as these thoughts coursed through his mind. He and Martinez had met to take an aimless stroll through the drenched city a few days after the trial and the morning after a nightlong thunderstorm. Cruz recalled the thick, refreshing air refilling him with some semblance of life and hope. Martinez explained that his ultimate disappointment did not derive from the trial. Instead, he felt as if he did not fulfill a promise to Williams—the promise that release of the video would reach international magnitude.

  With all of these competing thoughts, exultations and sorrows racing through his mind, Cruz lowered his voice and sternly said to Sphinx, “You've missed something throughout this entire process, Sphinx. The importance of the video can't be overshadowed by your own ego. It was a symbol of injustice—the murder of a hapless member of our society by another member of our society wielding all of its power. Sure, this happens on a daily basis amongst civilians, but to have what should be a most trusted member of our society commit a crime like this...what does it say about us? Is everyone touched by darkness? Isn't there a group of men or women outside the influence of hatred and discrimination? A very fine thread of hope existed in our society that the answer is 'yes' and that perhaps police officers are those people.” Cruz paused before concluding, “The video demonstrates that the thread of hope has been cut, and that we can trust no one in this world.”

  “Hobbes finally wins out...”

  Cruz fell silent, as did Sphinx. “What happened?” Cruz asked quietly.

  Sphinx locked his arms in a circle around his cup of coffee. A woman bumped into Sphinx as she walked past and startled both of them. Returning his attention to Cruz, Sphinx said, “I had to search, Cruz. I was desperate to know how things happened. When I saw that note you're holding, I had to search.” Sphinx flicked his hand at the piece of paper as if to prompt Cruz to finally open it. So Cruz did.

  The piece of paper was folded neatly lengthwise and then again crosswise. Cruz slowly pulled the corners of the paper apart, in a show of reverence to Sphinx. Once he finally got it open, he had to let his eyes and mind adjust to the scrawl. There were scribbled drawings of towers and large, unending mazes. Words were scattered around the page like the remains of the ocean's contents on a beach. Near the bottom-middle of the page was a sentence, the words clearly written, almost with computer-like precision. “Warden did his job with the judge.” A shiver bolted down Cruz's back and his heart fell into his stomach.

  Sphinx, seeing the pallor cast over Cruz's face, went on, “I felt the same way. Something was wrong, Cruz, do you understand that?”

  Finding his voice Cruz responded, “I do now...”

  “Not the whole thing, Cruz—not the whole thing. That little piece of damn paper drove me to dig further into the quicksand. I went to Shaver's house.”

  Cruz's cell phone rang. It was Martinez.

  “You can take that, I need a refill of this coffee.”

  “No,” Cruz said as he silenced the phone, “go on.”

  Sphinx rattled the cup of coffee around in his big hands and said, “Shaver mentioned a list once during trial. It was almost like something uttered while he was asleep. It sounded like '...list'll get me out'. When he said it I saw him freeze, but I was too immersed in the trial to think more of it. In fact, it had completely disappeared from my consciousness until I saw that piece of paper. I went to his house looking for that list.”

  “Did you find it?” Cruz asked with bated breath.

  “I did, and I don't want it anymore.” He hurriedly took a square, leather-bound notebook from his jacket pocket and shoved it towards Cruz.

  “Hold on! Why don't you want it? Shouldn't you be trying to protect your client?!”

  Sphinx scoffed and jammed his hands into his pockets. “He's dead and I've got a shrunk heart, goddammit. I need to do something so just take the damn notebook.” When Cruz hesitated, Sphinx added, “Take the damn thing before I change my mind!” Sphinx sat there, a man obviously embroiled with competing emotions of good and bad. It was powerful to watch someone choose good.

  Sphinx stood up, took his hands out of his pockets and leaned on the table. “That list, Cruz, that list could have been very valuable to me. It's everything. Your release of the video, it made a local sensation of a story and even garnered national attention. But, the information in that notebook implicates so much more. The horror in the delicate words of those pages will shock the world.” Sphinx seemed to be possessed, confused by the words streaming out of his mouth.

  “We—Martinez and I—knew some sort of list existed. The Chief told us, but we had no idea what it was about.”

  Cruz's words seemed to knock Sphinx out of his trance. He straightened up and adjusted his tie to tighten more closely around his neck. He looked dismayed by the fact that it had been loose in the first place. “I don't know if that's the same list, but you should be thanking me for bringing this notebook to you first in any event.” A scowl manifested on Sphinx's face like a cloud covering the sun. “You're lucky I was so generous with you, Mr. Marquez.”

  Cruz looked at Sphinx with some surprise and amusement at the change in his tone. W
ith a smile, Cruz said, “Sphinx is back.”

  “I've no idea what you're talking about,” Sphinx said with his own attempt at a smile, which the two shared for a fleeting moment before Sphinx spun around on a dime and walked out of the café.

  Cruz remained at the table, alone, the sounds of the café replaced in his mind by racing thoughts. He opened the first page of the notebook and read.

  Accounting of Work Performed

  Dr. Xavier Kastenoff

  Sheryl Petrow

  Mark Lunstrom

  Harvey Theobald

  The list under Dr. Xavier Kastenoff went on for many pages, and then a heading for Sergeant Shaver started, went on for several pages, and the notebook ended with a list apparently related to Tyler Smith. The list contained people's names, their places of employment and home addresses. Cruz flipped all the way to the end of the notebook, bewildered by its contents, until he saw an inscription on the inside back cover.

  To YOU. If you found this notebook, then I am dead. But, the remains of my work and the work of the other men listed in this notebook will take years to find..

  The souls in this book were consumed, burned, buried, stuffed into bags part by part, and disposed of in an array of other manners. All on behalf of Chief Edwin Colgate, whose reasons for disposing of the souls knew no bounds.

  We were all monsters, and if you're reading this, at least one of us has tasted justice.

  --Dr. Xavier Kastenoff

  THE END

  A F T E R W O R D

  __________________________________________________

  Thank you for reading Enemy in Blue! Much has happened since I released this, my debut novel, in May of 2011. Almost a year later, over 5,000 copies of the book have sold, and it has reached #2 in all legal thrillers on Amazon on multiple occasions.

  The support from my readers has been phenomenal. THANK YOU ALL. I also appreciate the fact that so many people have chosen to challenge themselves with the subject matter of this book. Some acknowledge the issues raised, some do not, but in either case I am happy to have so many people at least contemplating what's going on around us.

  My next book, which revs up four years after Enemy in Blue ends, will be out by May 1, 2012. Cruz, Martinez, and even a surprise character return. I promise plenty more thrills and suspense in Allegiance! As a reward for finishing, here are the first pages of Allegiance:

  * * * *

  Blown sand stung his face like tiny darts shot from an invisible enemy. He lay prone in the desert, his tan and chocolate fatigues doing little to combat the heat that emanated through the earth. A row of ants marched just beyond his shadow, providing him a distraction as he waited for his targets to crest the hill in front of him.

  He turned his head when he heard the howl of wind from his left—the incessant source of the sand. Grainy pellets struck the back of his cap and then subsided. He looked back at the hill and thought he saw the hazy outline of a person's head, surely a mirage. With a quick snap, he pulled binoculars from a side pocket and propped up on his elbows.

  It was the top of a person's head, the molecules around the figure shimmering in the distant heat wave. The rest of the body appeared slowly as the head bobbed from side to side. Bushy, caterpillar eyebrows poked up. A glossy, heat soaked face took form.

  He put the binoculars down and whispered to the woman next to him, “¿Hay más?”

  She put her own binoculars down and pulled the bandanna from her mouth. “Many more.” He looked back at the hill and four other people surrounded the man struggling up the incline. They all panted and struck various poses while catching their breath—hands on knees, hands behind head, crouched down with head between legs.

  “Go time?” she asked.

  “Let them get closer,” he answered. The group of people was about four hundred yards away. He watched them as they battled the intense heat and worked to recoup their energy. The sun's unrelenting rays beat down on them. Their lips were chalky white and their normally brown skin was pale and sickly—initial signs of heat exhaustion.

  They managed to press forward though, a testament to the oft-forgotten or unused human will. When they neared a little over two hundred yards away, he turned to her, gave a quick gesture with his head in the direction of the group of people, and picked up two jugs of water. She grabbed her bag of food and jogged toward them. He followed behind her, the water sloshing in the jugs and making balance challenging over the uneven desert terrain.

  The people froze when they saw these two figures coming their direction. A man, the same one who first crested the hill, put his hands out to his sides to get the rest of the group to stop. He stood alone, the tip of a triangle.

  When they were just about to reach yelling distance from the group, they all heard a crack, like a distant tree branch falling. Both he and the woman froze. Another crack and one of the jugs of water spun out of his hand. Water gushed out onto the sand, creating a silhouette on a golden background. Then it seemed as if a shooting gallery erupted. He fell face down, the desert floor grinding against his cheek.

  The lead man in the group of people waved his arms in the direction of the firing until one of the bullets connected. He screamed as his hand was ripped off. A second shot and he was silent, lifted into the air, angelic for a moment before crashing to the ground.

  With the jug of water by his side, the man in fatigues grabbed the woman's foot. She glanced at him, a look of terror in her bloodshot eyes. The bandanna had fallen off of her face, revealing her trembling lips.

  The sound of firing ended as abruptly as it had started and was replaced by the crescendo of engines. The grumble grew louder until he worried they were going to get run over. Without moving his body he shifted his head to look in the direction of the engines.

  Three tan jeeps bellowed across the ripples in the desert sand. He could smell trace exhaust fumes. The jeeps closed on him and the woman until the last moment. The unrefined roar of the engines deafened every other sound, including his own breathing. The lead jeep braked, spun sideways, and sent up a plume of dust and sand which enveloped them.

  The crunch of several footsteps were all he could make out in the dust around them. Then, nothing but a face emerged from the brown cloud, peering at him from several inches away. A copperish-brown stream of spit shot from the person's mouth.

  “Well, look like we got two-of-'em angels.”

  The man couldn't see the butt of a rifle swing up and then come down toward his face until the last moment, which coincided with the world turning black.

  * * * *

  Another of the wonderful benefits of writing this book has been meeting a host of wonderful authors. One of them stands out in particular: Carolyn McCray. If you enjoy thrillers, then check out a gritty police procedural from her (under her pen name Cristyn West) entitled Plain Jane: Brunettes Beware. Here's a teaser:

  #1 Bestselling Police Procedural and Hard-Boiled Mystery…

  Plain Jane: Brunettes Beware. A Patterson-style thriller with a dash of Hannibal.

  In the words of New York Times best-selling author James Rollins (Devil Colony)…“Wickedly macabre and blisteringly paced, PLAIN JANE marks the debut of a thriller for the new millennium. Brash, funny, terrifying, and shocking, here is a story best enjoyed with all the lights on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  A quick overview of Plain Jane…

  A city paralyzed by a serial killer stalking the night, taking a most gruesome trophy. The only thing standing in the murderer's way is an F.B.I. profiler...recently released from a mental institution.

  Plain Jane combines the swift pace of Patterson with the macabre of Harris.

  More Praise for Plain Jane…

  “A perfect mix of suspense, romance and phenomenally developed characters. I heeded the warning of the reviewers preceding me, and chose a day that I wanted and was able to get lost in a story.

  Cristyn West, you have spoiled me for other crime novels that I may read in the future, s
etting the bar quite high.”

  Kara Haas (@karahaas)

  THANK YOU AGAIN!