Color of Murder

by John Foxjohn

  David pinched his nose with thumb and index finger. “I’ll tell you this. I trust her to watch my back. She doesn’t panic in a firefight. She is a better shot than anyone on that list.” David smiled. “She might be small, but she can whip all their asses, too.”

  Beeker held his hands up. “It’s your team. If there’re problems you’re the one who will deal with them.” He stared at the files for a moment, and reached and picked them up again. He riffled through them and without hesitating, stopped at one and opened it, but David couldn’t see which one. With lines creasing his forehead, he took a deep breath as if he wanted to say something, but stopped.

  After Beeker set the files back on the desk, he rose. “Let’s go. We can’t keep Director Baylor waiting.”

  David hurried to catch up after straightening the files Beeker set on his desk. What was that all about? Why did he go to one file in particular? Beeker knew something about one of his team members he didn’t, but should.

  David’s pulse raced when Beeker knocked on the director’s door. Baylor’s office was the size of David’s apartment, and Baylor sat behind a desk big enough to use as a boat—a big boat.

  The director stood when David entered the office and extended his hand. He looked like a marathon runner in a business suit.

  “Did you meet with your team?” Baylor asked after they took seats.

  “Yes, sir. I think we’ll work well together.”

  Baylor, in a voice that revealed his Harvard education, said “David, we have a problem we need to discuss with you.”

  David rubbed his mouth. Here it comes. They didn’t like someone on his team, or didn’t want Melissa on it. One of the reasons he took this job was with their assurance they’d let her on it.

  “We’ve had a request from a Texas law enforcement agency to take over the investigation into an officer’s murder. We looked at the Dallas and Houston field offices, but they have no one available to send. Even if they did, they do not have anyone who has this type of expertise. Actually, you’re the only one at the bureau at this moment who can step in and handle an investigation of this magnitude. We realize your job scope doesn’t pertain to these types of investigations, but would you consider taking it?”

  David let out the breath he’d held waiting for the bad news. When the director’s words sank in, he frowned and cocked his head. “Me—sir, or my team, too?”

  “The team.”

  David rubbed his chin. “Sir, I’m not sure about all this job scope and stuff. If a policeman’s been killed, you’re damn right I’ll take it over.”

  Baylor nodded and took a deep breath. “OK, something you need to know before you make a decision. Angelina County Sheriff’s Deputy Justin Milam was the one killed.”

  David’s stomach knotted and convulsed like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. Tightness gripped his chest and he couldn’t speak. Without thinking, he slammed his hand on the chair’s arm, breaking it into pieces. He glanced at the pieces lying on the shag carpet, and at his bosses. “Sorry sir,” he mumbled.

  Beeker’s bug eyes grew larger, but Baylor said, “Understandable. Do you still want the assignment?”

  David blinked. What a stupid question. “Damn right I want it.”

  Baylor nodded to Beeker, who took over. “Angelina County’s sheriff doesn’t want us there. County commissioners forced him to make the call. You may not get much cooperation from them.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. “Sir—Do I take over the investigation?”

  Baylor nodded. “We would prefer you work in conjunction with the local agencies, but you will be the ranking law enforcement agent and the case is yours. Use your best judgment—take as much time as you need. This could turn into a political bombshell, but you’ve handled political cases before. I have the utmost confidence in you.”

  David stood. He had handled the political bullshit before, but not well. “I know something about this sheriff and the department. If I don’t get cooperation, I’ll arrest and charge them with obstruction of justice.”

  Baylor stood and advanced from behind his desk. “Do what you need to. When do you plan on leaving?”

  “I’ll get Melissa to round the team up and head that way. I’m leaving on the first available plane to either Houston or Dallas.”

  Baylor clasped his shoulder. “You have a lot of confidence in Melissa, don’t you?”

  David didn’t say anything. Both Baylor and Beeker knew he did.

  Baylor nodded. “Something I want you to keep in mind. You have this investigation on Director Beeker’s recommendation. This is also your first assignment with the bureau. We don’t accept failure.”

  David quickened his pace from the director’s office. He damn sure didn’t accept failure, either.

  * * * *

  With the Lone Ranger theme song beating in her chest, Melissa leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. D-Day had arrived for her. Was she ready? Her life and career had skyrocketed beyond her wildest imagination—causing her to revise her goals.

  A year and a half before, her life-long dream to become an FBI agent was out of her reach. The bureau didn’t accept women. A congressional mandate gave her a chance to get into the bureau, but not into the field as an agent.

  She’d spent her entire life preparing to hit the streets, nab the bad guys with her gun and badge. When she graduated first in her class at the FBI academy, her puff of smoke dream vanished. The bureau seemed to think that Congress could make them take women, but couldn’t tell them what to do with them. She’d spent a year in personnel shuffling papers as men got the field assignments she wanted.

  As frustrations mounted, close to giving up, Director Beeker summoned her and gave her the chance to become the first female field agent in U.S. history.

  She’d wanted an assignment to New York, Los Angles, or Chicago. Again, they threw cold water on her desires, sending her to Houston, Texas, the last place in the world she’d wanted to go.

  Without a choice, she took the assignment, telling herself that she was a field agent, no matter where they sent her.

  On the plane ride to Houston, she didn’t know that her assignment would put her into contact with a man who would forever change her life—causing her upward spiral in the bureau.

  She wasn’t a feminist, but didn’t respect any men until she met David. He was the first man who treated her as a person, an equal, not a female trying to horn in on a man’s world.

  As a Houston homicide detective, he taught her the little things that other men either didn’t know or didn’t care if she knew. She knew he was aware of her sexually, but his respect of her as a person overrode his sexual feelings.

  When the bureau recruited David to head the new unit to investigate serial killers, he insisted Melissa be assigned as his second in command.

  David had never said anything to her about the director’s reaction to her promotion, but she knew he had put himself and his reputation on the line for her.

  Confident in her abilities as a person, could she lead men in the field, gain their respect as a person and an agent? She didn’t know the answers to these questions, and that caused her anxiety.

  She could outshoot and beat up most men, but now, she didn’t believe that would be enough—she had to gain their respect on a different level. If it were only her reputation at stake, she wouldn’t be as nervous. David had put himself in the line of fire for her and she couldn’t let him down.

  With a trembling hand, she reached for the phone, calling the four male agents David had chosen. She told them to meet her in her office in one hour. When she hung up, she tried to concentrate on her paperwork, but couldn’t. Melvin, the computer geek, was the only one she’d met.

  As the walls closed in on her, she rose to take a walk, deciding she needed coffee. She greeted people in the hall with a forced smile or nod, but strode to the break room. When she entered, the males who sat around the room stopped talking, staring at her.


  Their eyes cut into her back as she poured her coffee. Tomb-like silence sent chills down her spine. When she left the room, she knew they’d been talking about her.

  Most men in the bureau believed she had fucked her way into the bureau, and into a field agent assignment. She’d overheard two speaking the day before. They were saying she’d fucked David to get her present position.

  She clenched her fists. Why did they believe she had to go to bed with men in order to advance? Why couldn’t they accept the fact that she had earned the promotion?

  She stomped her foot. Hell with them. She’d show them what she could do. She marched outside, her coffee forgotten. When the frigid wind hit her in the face, she took a deep breath and calmed down.

  Melissa spent fifteen minutes freezing outside before she re-entered the building. She sat behind her desk making airline reservations when the first one knocked on her door.

  Taking a deep breath, she motioned him in and indicated a seat. While she waited on the phone, she sized him up. Six-one, longish blond hair and a scraggly mustache, his willowy frame reminded her of Henry Carrington, David’s old partner in Houston.

  She wrote the flight information down, rose and extended her hand to shake. “Melissa Adams.”

  He smiled, rose, and shook with her. His grip was firm but not hard as if he had to prove he was stronger.

  “Andy Hastings.”

  She glanced at her watch. He was five minutes early. “Have a seat. We’ll get into things when the others arrive.”

  Melvin showed up next, a huge grin on his face. Melissa empathized with him because they were a lot a like. He wished for a field assignment and couldn’t escape his geekhood.

  As Melvin and Andy shook, John Fielding crept into the office. With his head down, not bothering to shake, he mumbled his name. David had told her that he stuttered.

  Sitting at her desk, waiting for the last one to show up, Melissa thought that David had assembled a team of misfits, herself included.

  She knew that growing up, David, small and skinny, had been a target for bullies. Although he was still shorter than most men, he’d taken the Charles Atlas route, dedicating himself to weightlifting.

  She wondered if David considered himself a misfit, and if that was the reason he had assembled this group. She knew he didn’t lack confidence in himself. Maybe he wanted to give the ones who didn’t get a chance to excel, the opportunity. She smiled to herself. Maybe she was over-analyzing David’s motives. Knowing him the way she did, he chose the ones he thought would do the best job, no matter what they looked like or others thought about them.

  Twenty minutes late, the last one showed up. Large, handsome, and well dressed, he reclined against the doorjamb with a condescending smirk.

  Melissa glanced at her watch. She didn’t care for his attitude the moment she spotted him in the door, and she didn’t like the fact that he was late. He sauntered into her office. “Where’s Mason?”

  Melissa leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “You’re twenty minutes late. In the future, if I say an hour, I expect you to be here in an hour.” She forced a smile to try to take some of the sting out of her words. Morgan’s next statement made her smile disappear.

  “I’ll see what Mason has to say about that.”

  Melissa raised an eyebrow. She had expected at least one to try her, but not this soon. After a couple of deep breaths, she said, “It happens that David is in Texas. I—”

  “Then I want to call him.”

  She drummed her fingers on the desk, attempting to calm down. She wanted to kick his ass, but that wouldn’t solve anything now. This time she needed her mind. “First, don’t interrupt me again. When David interviewed you, he informed you of the team’s command structure. If you had not agreed to it, he would not have accepted you. He isn’t here but I am and you will do what I say or you’re off this team. Do you understand?”

  Morgan crossed his arms. “You have the authority to kick me off?”

  “Yes I do.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I want to think about this.”

  Melissa nodded with a smile. “You have three seconds.”

  CHAPTER 4

  After arriving in Dallas, David rented a car from Avis using the bureau’s credit card and headed south on Highway 69. He wondered about how Melissa did rounding the others up and getting them on a plane. He thought about calling to make sure things were OK, but decided not to. He hadn’t figured out how to use the new car phone, but more important, Melissa may think he was checking up on her.

  Heck, if he called, he would be checking up on her. She could handle it. He trusted her, but Dennis Morgan bothered him.

  Morgan was the only one David interviewed and chose that made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure why. He’d debated that one a lot, but Morgan was better than the other administrative specialists he’d interviewed. He didn’t have that many choices, anyway.

  As pine trees and grass in the median whipped by, he decided not to worry about it. Melissa could handle Morgan. He needed to worry about his own emotions—his objectivity in this investigation, and it wouldn’t be easy. Justin was a good friend, not just a body he needed to investigate.

  After he stopped in Jacksonville to get coffee, his phone rang. It took him a few moments to figure the new thing out, and say, “Hello.”

  “David this is Beeker,” a scratchy voice said on the other end. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We received a call from the Angelina County Sheriff saying you didn’t need to show up because they made an arrest and closed the case.”

  After a few silent moments, Beeker asked him if he understood.

  “Yes, sir. I’m going on. I’m checking this out myself.”

  Beeker laughed. “Thought you would.”

  “Would you call them and tell ’em I’m an hour out and not to do anything until I get there?”

  Beeker laughed again. “Already told them.”

  An hour and fifteen minutes later, David exited Highway 69 on the loop and turned east on Frank street. He found a parking space at the Angelina County jail on First Street.

  When he marched in, several people stood in the foyer. He recognized the sheriff from his badge. Peterson’s gaze shot daggers at David when he identified himself.

  “What are you doing here?” the words spat out of Peterson’s mouth without the courtesy of an introduction.

  David adjusted his Hermes silk tie, pursed his lips and nodded. If this was the way they wanted to play the game, he could play it, too. An insignificant smile flirted with the corners of his mouth. “You damn well know what I’m doing here.”

  “You made a long trip for nothing. Suspect’s in custody and we have a confession.”

  “Really? Report I read said three suspects were involved in the murder.”

  With a cheek puffing out with tobacco, a tall skinny male with pimples stepped forward. “I’m Lloyd Spivey, Chief Deputy. Don’t you worry about all this. Haul your ass out of here.”

  David glanced at Spivey for a moment, and turned his gaze back to the sheriff. He pointed his thumb as if hitchhiking at Spivey. “Sheriff—if you want to keep your chief deputy on your department, you better get him away from me.”

  Peterson put his hands on his hips. “You can’t take him off the department.”

  David strode forward, inches from the sheriff, and looked up. “No, I can’t. But it will be damn hard to do his job behind bars. I can arrest his stupid ass. If you think I’m joking, try me.”

  Peterson’s face swelled like a toad frog. As the tensions escalated, a large man in khaki slacks, white shirt, and Texas Ranger badge pinned to his left pocket stepped between David and Peterson. Extending his hand to David, he said, “I’m Joshua Pateau of the Texas Rangers.”

  When David introduced himself, Pateau nodded. “I’ve heard of you. You were the Houston police department’s crackerjack homicide detective.” Pateau winked.

&nb
sp; David half smiled. Pateau was telling the sheriff that he was a police officer before joining the FBI. Shrewd move on the Ranger’s part to defuse the tension. David nodded. “I was on the Houston Police Department and a homicide detective for a number of years, but I don’t know about that crackerjack stuff.”

  “Wait a minute,” Peterson cut in. “You’re the David Mason who Justin always talked about?”

  David turned his attention back to the sheriff. “Justin and I were in the Houston Police Department together. We were good friends.”

  Spivey, holding a spit cup in his left hand, let a glob go into the makeshift spittoon. “Hell, son. That changes everything. We thought you were one of these bureau weenies who don’t know shit come to take over.”

  David took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Pateau gave them a way out of a situation they couldn’t win and they were smart enough to take advantage. He’d do this alone if he had to, but it would be easier with their cooperation. “Where’s the arrested suspect?”

  Peterson straightened. “He’s still in our interrogation room. Let me show you.”

  David followed the group down the hall toward the back. Two small enclosures had one-way glass. Both looked the same, a small wooden table, scarred, with two old wooden chairs in each room. First one was unoccupied, but the second held a black male. He sat in a chair, hands cuffed behind him, his forehead lying on the table. Although David couldn’t see the man’s face, he could tell he was young.

  When the sheriff rapped the window, the suspect raised his face.

  Furious, David’s eyes narrowed—he sucked in ragged gasps. He clenched his fists. They’d beat the suspect’s face out of shape. His lips appeared twice their normal size and dried blood covered his mouth and chin. His cut eyes resembled someone from a car wreck.

  David spun and stared at the Texas Ranger who gave him a perceptive nod. David took a deep breath through his nose. Damn. His cooperation with the stupid bastards expired. He clenched his teeth. “Sheriff. Did he confess before or after you beat the shit out of him?”