by J. D. Martin
“When will I see you?” Kathryn asked.
“Soon,” I promised. “But right now, I should get some rest. I’ll talk to you later.” After I ended the call, I walked with Amy Doyle into her home to spend the night.
Chapter 23
I watched as the car pulled up to the intersection. The setting sun reflected off the blue paint causing flecks of silver to sparkle like stars in the night sky. The man driving leaned over to the woman with him and kissed her on the cheek. As he pulled away, an arm came in through the window and pressed a cold barrel to his temple. I wanted to scream for help, but before the words could come out, I felt the pistol on my skin.
Death’s goodnight kiss was puckered and ready to bid me farewell. I felt the cold leather of the steering wheel between my fingers. Before I could save myself, the trigger pulled and released the firing pin into that ignited the metal tube in a flash of light. Instantly, I was back on the sidewalk watching the struggle as a loud bang was followed by the interior of the windshield splashing red.
Time inched by as it appeared to stop in that moment. Everything froze for that instant before death. The slug shrieked in the night as it bored into flesh and bone. The geyser that was his life sprayed out like a fire hose as the force of the bullet snapped his head to the side and caused the man’s dying body to fall into the passenger’s lap.
Again, I tried to stop what was happening. The man was lost, but I could still save her. I ran towards the vehicle, my chest heaving with the effort, but I didn’t get any closer. From across the street, I could feel the life draining out as the blood spilled onto the floorboards. The woman was screaming as the gun turned on her. I ran harder as my vision began to blur from the strain. Reaching out as if my fingers could somehow stop all that was happening, the gun rang out for the second time as I shot up from the sheets screaming.
I woke up out of breath and covered in sweat. It was the same dream again that kept me from sleeping in peace. Lying beside me in the bed, Amy slept soundly. If nothing else, I was happy to see that my commotion hadn’t stirred her as well. Leaning back onto the sheets that were soaked in perspiration, I looked over at the clock on her side table. There was still another hour before I needed to get out of bed, but deemed it better to wake now than falling asleep to relive the nightmare once more.
Letting my eyes rest on Amy as she slept, I felt like a part of me could be happy here with her. The whole idea of the family with the white-picket fence wasn’t something I’d envisioned for my future since I was a teenager. But watching her chest rise and fall while her exhales caused the brown strands of hair laying across her cheek to dance made me wonder what could be. However, in the end I knew that I could never be what she deserved. I may put on a show of something better, but inside I would always be damaged goods.
Rolling up again, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed until my feet rested on the grey carpet. I grabbed my cell phone and checked for any missed calls or texts, and all I found were a few from Kathryn still wanting to see me. She again inquired about my condition, but it was too early to worry about responding to her.
I also found a voicemail from Hawthorne that gave me a small reason to rejoice. Forensics had finished up, so I would get my house back later that afternoon. Although I knew Amy was happy to host me while I was essentially homeless, I didn’t want to be a burden on her or anyone. My preference was always to take care of myself, and that meant getting out of her hair as soon as possible. Luckily, she only had to provide a roof for me for a single night.
Standing up, I walked out of the bedroom and around the corner to her bathroom. As is standard with any man waking in the morning, I took my complimentary morning piss before turning on the shower. I waited until the temperature wasn’t that of an icy blizzard before pulling back the curtain to step inside. Before I could start washing off the sweat from last night and my nightmare, I heard a whistle behind me admiring what she saw.
“Oh, I’ll take me a piece of that,” Amy winked. She leaned against the entrance to the bathroom with her arms crossed and still naked from a few hours earlier. “Mind if I join you?”
Yanking back the curtain, I waited for her to step in as the water splashed against my back. As we started to wash one another, I was shown the importance of getting stiches when you’re supposed to. In all the action of the night, I hadn’t taken care of getting the wound from the hunting knife in my shoulder sewn up. When the bandage was taken off my arm to clean off the dried blood, the scabbing was pulled back and reopened the cut. It wasn’t spurting blood like a bad kung-fu flick, but it was enough to drain down my bicep and drip off my elbow. The droplets spread out like an amoeba on impact as it swirled in the water and headed for the drain.
“Fuck,” I said as I saw it happening.
“You really need to get stiches.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you get them last night before coming over? If not for that bandage, you’d have gotten blood everywhere.”
“Because I’m stubborn.”
“And pig-headed,” she added.
“And pig-headed,” I said.
“I’d take care of it,” she said as she dried it off and wrapped a fresh bandage around it, “but I don’t have any supplies here.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it taken care of today. I’ll just have to live with the gauze wrap for now.”
Out of the shower and with my muscles aching, I had more difficulty drying off than I could handle, so Amy helped. I felt like a toddler needing Mom to take care of me. Once I was dry, Amy laid out a spare suit she had from the last time I’d spent the night. It took more time than usual, but I was able to get dressed and added my gun harness and a splash of cologne before putting on my sport coat.
The elevator chimed as the doors opened to the bullpen. Despite all the events of the last twelve hours, I remembered that Eric Masters had left a file on my desk and wanted to get to it. As I maneuvered around a group of people chatting while sipping their morning coffees, I avoided joining in and kept my eyes on the prize. As I neared my desk, I could see the yellow folder lying next to the keyboard, but I was ambushed before I could get to it.
“Are you ok? You never returned my calls. I’ve been worried all night about you.”
Either Kathryn had either snuck up behind me after waiting for me to arrive, or I was so focused on seeing what Eric left for me that I’d walked right past her in the bullpen. Regardless, her surprise arrival kept me from the information on my desk a few minutes more. I was eager to learn what had come back on the hair found on Judge Matthews, but first I had to deal with a woman scorned.
“Morning Kat,” I said turning to look at her. Her brows were pulled in tight as she stared at the cause of her frustration. She crossed her arms in what could only be a physical committal to not move until I spoke with her. She’d wanted to see me last night, but that hadn’t been in the cards.
“I’m alright. I’m sorry I didn’t get back with you, but I’d already told you I was ok and just needed to get some rest. I wasn’t in the mood to go over everything again after having to do it for the crime report. I was all talked out and kind of lost in my own head, you know? I wasn’t happy that I’d let the guy get away.”
“I can understand that,” she said as her muscles relaxed. She looked around to see if she’d caused a scene. The eyes that had been watching darted back to their work to hide their voyeurism. She stepped closer to me and dropped her voice to a caring, yet sensual, whisper. “Want me to come over tonight? I could get your mind off things for a while if you’ll have me. I just want to take care of you.”
She rested a hand briefly on my chest and looked up at me until she remembered that there were other people that could see us. Suddenly dropping her hands to her side and taking a step back, her eyes wandered everywhere around me but my face. “That is, if you want me to take care of you,” she said.
She bit her bottom lip as she waited for my answer. If I was honest
with myself, I wasn’t keen on the yearning I saw in her wandering gaze. It felt like she was experiencing more from our pairing than I was willing to give. It was similar to what I saw in Amy’s eyes, but this seemed more desperate.
“Ok, just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” she said trying to mask her disappointment when I didn’t answer fast enough.
“Let me think about it,” I said quickly to console her. “I have a lot of work to do today, and I don’t know how I’ll feel later. I’m still sore from the entire ordeal as well. Just let me think about it and I’ll let you know, ok?”
She nodded with a concerned grin and her eyes lingered on mine in an attempt to sway my decision. Getting nothing concrete in return, her face went slack as she turned and walked away.
Kathryn could easily offer a wonderful distraction that would surely work wonders on any normal day. But my state of mind was out of tune lately, and the longing I saw in her eyes wasn’t something I was prepared to deal with. I was serious about giving the idea of her company some thought, but for now I was more concerned with the information on the hair from the crime scene.
Plopping down in my desk chair, I picked up the folder and cracked it open. As the day continued to work against me, I was once again interrupted before I could finish reading the first line on the page.
“Edward and Richard spoke with the lady in the elevators,” said Marcus as lowered himself into the extra chair beside my desk. Setting a coffee in front of me, he leaned back to sip at his own before continuing. “She said that after your skirmish, when the guy used her as a shield, she was forced to stand with her nose in the corner like a kid on timeout as the elevator descended to the lobby.”
Closing the file again, I thanked him for the mocha as I took a drink. As he gave report, I laughed at myself for forgetting about the other hostage from last night. In all the commotion, I hadn’t even thought about what might be learned from the woman he’d used as a shield in the elevator during his escape.
“He told her to stand there with her eyes closed because if she saw his face she would, quote, ‘seriously regret it.’ When the elevator opened again in the lobby, he just left without saying anything else.”
“I’m guessing she didn’t get a description of his face then.”
“Nope.”
“And all I got of his face was blocked by hers, so we’ve got nothing to go on.”
“Yeah, but if the blood on the bullet brings anything back, then that won’t matter. Also, they took the clothes she was wearing at the time into evidence as well. It’s unlikely that we’ll get anything from them, but with the brawl the two of you had beforehand, you never know what might come back.”
“Good thinking,” I said.
“I’ll let you know if anything else develops,” he said as he stood back up and walked to his desk. With no further distractions or reports, I was finally able to read through the report I was still holding. As I scanned through it, I discovered that Eric was absolutely right when he said I’d be shocked.
The hair came from a Tara Williams, which would normally link her as our prime suspect to the murder. But another detail in the report also proved that it was impossible that Tara could be our killer. This Arizona native had resided for the last eighteen years in Scottsdale Cemetery after her own murder.
“I checked it three times because I thought I’d made a mistake, but I didn’t. The hair belongs to Tara Williams and she is, in fact, deceased.”
Standing in Eric Master’s office in the lab, I held the file open as I went over the facts with him. I wanted to be positive that the information was genuine, and he assured me it was. After having pestered him about the facts, I took him at his word and apologized for the third degree. Luckily, he understood as he too had had a hard time accepting the information at face value. How would a hair from a woman that died almost two decades ago appear on a murder victim?
Tara Williams was born and raised in Scottsdale when her life was cut short by another Arizonian; Brett Davidson. Brett was tried and convicted of shooting Tara twice in the chest with a 9mm handgun. Although he claimed everything had been an accident, the prosecutor ran the entire jury through what happened and baffled them when asking how he could’ve shot someone on accident…twice.
The final ruling that sent Brett to prison took little time to come to the unanimous decision. In addition to the evidence from the prosecution, Tara’s brother Trent had given crucial testimony. He’d hammered the final nails into Brett’s coffin when he teared up on the stand and gave testimony against him. On the last few lines of the file, it said that the presiding judge on that case was the one and only Judge Joseph Matthews.
Back in the bullpen, I found a pleasant sight seated in the chair beside my desk. The precincts lovely coroner, Amy Doyle awaited my return. She noticed my approach and smiled with a hint of concern as her eyes wandered to the shoulder where I’d been stabbed.
“I haven’t got the stitches yet, but I promise I’ll get it taken care of,” I said to console her. I pulled out my chair and swiveled to face her.
“Besides wanting to check on you, I’ve also got some results on the rug man from your apartment.” She held up another folder for me then laid it on my desk. “The DB’s ID came back as Trent Smith, but I got a hit when I pulled him up in the system. Apparently, he’d been living in Kansas City under witpro.”
“Why was he in witness protection?”
“I spoke with Edward before you got here, and he made a call to find an answer to that question. He found that Trent had received death threats over some case pertaining to a local gang and the cops in his hometown didn’t have sufficient evidence to do anything about it. But after an attempt was made on his life, he agreed to testify against them and was put in protection. Oh, and Eddie also learned his last name was actually Williams.”
“So, we’re calling Pinick Eddie now, huh? Should I feel jealousy about—“
I stopped as the name suddenly registered with me. Grabbing the file I still had from Eric off my desk, I flipped through the pages. When I came to the section I was looking for, I looked back up at Amy. “Did you say the victim’s name was Trent Williams?”
“Yeah, why?”
Springing from my seat, I scanned the room until I found my team coming from the breakroom with fresh mugs of coffee. “Guys,” I hollered as I flagged them down. “Get over here quick.”
Detectives Marcus Delgado, Richard Bronson, and Edward Pinick all hustled over to my desk at the urgency in my voice. I informed them of what Amy had said as she sat listening to me. Clearly intrigued at what had agitated me, she sat quietly as I consulted with my team. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the hair found on the judge belongs to a deceased woman named Tara Williams, but Amy just informed me that the body from my condo was her brother Trent.”
Shock splashed across the three of them in unison like a wave at a baseball stadium. “That’s not all, this guy also helped to put away his sister’s killer whom I found out was released from prison not long ago.”
“Sounds like we need to get a location on Brett Davidson immediately,” said Delgado.
“I can call witpro again and see if they know anything about Trent and his sister’s case.” Pinick was already on his way to a phone before he’d finished the sentence.
“Great,” I said. “Richard, can you check with the parole board and find Brett’s current location?”
“On it,” he said as he turned to take care of his task.
While the other detectives made calls, Marcus and I took a trip to Kansas so we could speak with Mrs. Matthews. It was possible that she may have more information on the judge’s connection to all of this now that more information had surfaced.
Back in the Matthews home, Marcus and I sat on a leather couch in the living room with the judge’s wife in the loveseat across from us. Just before we arrived, Bronson had called to inform us that after Brett Davidson was released from prison a month ago, he had
moved to Kansas City but they were trying to get hold of his parole officer to get a current address. The news made Brett our prime suspect, and the information aided us in our meeting with the judge’s widow.
Placing a few photos on the table, “Ms. Matthews, do you recognize any of these men?” As she studied them, I added, “Please, take your time.” But time wasn’t something she needed when her eyes landed on the third photograph.
“This one here is Trent,” she said. Her eyes darted up to me as a hand went to her mouth. “My God, Trent didn’t have anything to do with this, did he?”
Marcus jumped in, “Not that we know of, ma’am, but he was found dead yesterday.” He waited a moment as her mouth dropped and a small gasp of air escaped. She recovered her composure slightly as the news sank in. “Can you tell us how you knew him?”
She told us that Joseph and Trent were very good friends as she wiped a single tear from her face. They met at the golf course, and Joseph was hesitant to have anything to do with him at first. Ms. Matthews never understood why, and Joe never elaborated. Marcus and I already knew that the assumption could be that the judge remembered presiding over Trent’s case while still in Arizona.
Ms. Matthews informed us that she and her husband moved to Kansas City after Joseph was offered the district judge position. At the time he had met Trent at the golf course, they didn’t know many people in the area and when the judge’s uneasiness had faded, the two men became good friends. Trent had started joining them for dinner on a weekly basis and was often accompanied by his girlfriend.
“Wait, girlfriend?” I asked. “Would you happen to have her name?” As she gave us the girlfriend’s information, my phone sounded off with a text message from Simmons. Thanking her for her time, we excused ourselves and treaded back to my SUV.
Once we were back in the vehicle, Delgado was the first to ask the obvious question. “Do you think Brett found out that Trent was living here and friends with the judge and tortured Matthews to find Trent?”
