Bearing False Witness
An Alec Stover Mystery
#1
Merrill Heath
Copyright © 2010 by Merrill Heath
Published by Merrill Heath at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Bearing False Witness is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover artwork and design by Dwayne Coleman.
Acknowledgements
The Birmingham metropolitan area is diverse and interesting. There are many entertaining events, fun places, nice restaurants, and other things of local interest that I like to use in my books. While these places are real they are used fictitiously. I may take “poetic license” from time to time to make things work the way I want them to within the context of the stories. But I hope, for the most part, that my depictions are accurate. On the other hand, the Birmingham Metropolitan Homicide Division is entirely fictitious. No such entity exists. Of course, any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Special thanks to my brother, Warne, and his wife, Mary Ena, for their input on legal matters and descriptions and information regarding Smith Lake, to Taylor Powell for his feedback and legal advice, and to my cousin, Ellen Heath, for her encouragement in this “new project” and writing in general. Special thanks to Dwayne Coleman for the terrific cover. I think the artwork and design really capture a sense of nostalgia for the hardboiled crime novels that I hope also comes through in the writing. And thanks to the friends who read and critiqued this book prior to its publication – Anne Blackwell, Cathy Akin, Fern O’Brien, Tina Parker, Ron Leighton, Mary Ena Heath, and Martha Huie. Their feedback is greatly appreciated.
Dedication
For Rose...
Sometimes you just have to write what you have to write. Maybe you’ll like it now that it’s done.
Chapter 1
I was in my office, leaning back in my chair, with my feet up on the desk. I had Paul Brown’s album The City dialed up on my iPod. From the desk I could look out the windows and see people walking along the sidewalk on the street below, bundled up in heavy coats with their collars turned up against the cold. The heavy bass and percussions of the song Food for the Moon matched the scene perfectly. There was a light rain falling. The weather forecast called for freezing rain and perhaps snow later. It was the first week of February and Birmingham was caught in an arctic cold snap that was setting record temperatures. Today was the first time the temperature had been above freezing in three days.
I glanced at my watch. 4:45pm. It didn’t look like Braxton was going to make it by today. No big surprise there. Braxton owed me money. Nobody ever paid up on Friday.
I turned off the iPod and set it on the desk, then got up and stretched. I was a little sore from a hard workout a couple of days ago. In my profession it pays to keep in shape. You never know when you might have to chase someone down. Or run away from someone, for that matter. My black hair was beginning to show a touch of gray on the sides, which made me look a little older than my forty-five years. But I was keeping the middle-aged spread in check. At just over six feet tall and just under two hundred pounds, I was still lean and muscular even though it was getting tougher each year to maintain.
My office was one of several on the second floor of a downtown building that had retail shops on the ground floor, office space on the second, and loft condos in the remaining four floors. The office furnishings consisted of an old wooden desk, a file cabinet, two straight-backed wooden chairs which sat in front of the desk, a leather sofa against the wall opposite the desk, and a coat rack next to the door. In the corner there was a little kitchenette I’d set up with a microwave, a compact refrigerator I got at a garage sale for ten bucks, and a coffee pot. There was a shared break room and bathrooms down the hall. I had intended to put up some pictures three years ago when I moved in, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. The lettering on the frosted glass in the top half of the office door read: Alec Stover – Private Investigator.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and stood looking at a big orange tabby that was curled up in a tight ball on the sofa. Roscoe was a tomcat that lived in the building. He often came by to visit when I was in my office, sometimes through the front door, sometimes down the fire escape. Luckily for Roscoe, no one seemed to mind having him around and he had free roam of the place.
He appeared to be sound asleep but his head suddenly popped up and he stared at the door. A moment later a man came down the hallway. I could see his silhouette through the frosted glass as he stopped in front of the door. He raised his hand as if he was going to knock, but decided against it. He opened the door and came inside.
“Alec Stover?” the man asked.
“That’s me. What can I do for you?”
The man was dressed in a dark suit and a gray wool topcoat. He had on a snap brim cap to protect against the rain. He removed the cap but kept his coat on. He approached the desk and dropped the cap on one of the chairs. He extended his hand and I shook it as he said, “Brad Johnson. I’m a Marshal with the Federal Witness Security Program. Albuquerque office.” He showed me his badge, then slipped it back into his coat pocket. “I have reason to believe one of my witnesses is here in the Birmingham area and I’m trying to track him down. I contacted a couple of private detective agencies listed in the phone book and everyone said I should talk to you.”
“Most of the other detectives concentrate on divorce and child custody cases.” I motioned at a chair and he sat down. “Care for a cup of coffee? I made a fresh pot about half an hour ago. It’s not too scorched.”
“That sounds good,” he said. “Is it always this cold here this time of year?”
“No. It’s usually about twenty degrees warmer.” I poured coffee into a spare mug. “Cream and sugar?”
He shook his head. “Just black.”
I handed him the cup then sat down behind my desk. I studied him as he took a sip of coffee. He was a big guy, slightly taller than me and maybe thirty pounds heavier. His brown hair was thinning on top. He had a big nose that drooped over a shaggy mustache. He looked soft except for his eyes. They were hard and cold.
“Think you can help me find my guy?” he asked.
“Depends on what you can tell me about him. How long he’s been in town. What he’s doing here. What he looks like.”
“I’ve got his file back at the hotel. I can bring it by first thing in the morning.”
“He lives in Albuquerque?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s he doing here in Birmingham?” I asked.
“Visiting his daughter.”
“That’s not typically allowed for someone in WITSEC, is it? When you go in the program don’t you have to break all ties with your past?”
“Didn’t know he had a daughter.”
“You didn’t know or he didn’t know?”
“We didn’t know. Not sure if he did or not. This is the first time he’s made any attempt to see her.”
“How urgent is it that you find him? Is he in danger?”
“I’m not sure about that, either. I’ll have a better idea once I locate him and find out what he’s been up to and where he’s been since our last contact.”
I thought about it for a minute. Johnson sat and waited.
“His daughter lives in Birmingham?” I asked.
“In this area, yeah.”
“What’s her name?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Unless you take the job, of course.”
“As much as I’d love to be of service to the Witness Security Program, I don’t work for free. I’ll have to charge you for my time and efforts.”
“How much?”
I told him and he nodded.
“Sounds reasonable. When can you get started? I know it’s Friday but I’d rather not wait until Monday.”
“I can start in the morning.”
“I’ll be here at eight.”
“I’ll be here at nine,” I said.
He smiled slightly even though it was an old joke. “I’ll bring the file…and some donuts.”
“I’ll provide the coffee,” I said.
He got up and took one of my business cards out of the cardholder on the desk, then walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and looked at the cat lying on the sofa. Roscoe was doing a fine job of ignoring him.
“I like your cat,” he said.
“It’s not my cat.”
He nodded as if he understood, then walked out.
Chapter 2
When I got to my office the next morning it was a little after 8:00am. Two people were waiting in the hallway – a young guy in a policeman’s uniform and an attractive woman. She had on a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, jeans, hiking boots and a navy down jacket. Her dark hair just reached the collar of her coat. It was parted slightly off center and combed back away from her face. She had a widow’s peak and dark eyebrows over bright green eyes. She looked like she might be in her mid thirties.
“Alec Stover?” she asked.
“Yes. And you are?”
“Detective Emma Radcliffe, Metropolitan Homicide Division.”
The Birmingham Metropolitan Homicide Division, commonly referred to as simply Metro, was something that had been in place for a couple of years. It was the brainchild of a couple of city mayors in the Birmingham area. In light of budget cuts and hard economic times, Metro had been created as a resource pool for homicide investigations for the entire area rather than each city having to staff their own homicide departments.
Detective Radcliffe showed me her badge.
“This is Officer Michaels with the Homewood Police,” she said.
Neither of them smiled.
She pulled a business card out of her coat pocket and handed it to me. “Is this your card?”
I glanced at it and gave it back to her. “Yeah, but it’s damp. I’ve got a whole stack of them inside. I can give you a dry one if you need it.”
Officer Michaels snickered and she silenced him with a quick glance. She put the card back in her pocket.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Stover. But I would like for you to come with us. There’s an apparent homicide victim near Homewood High School. No ID. Only your business card. Maybe you can identify him for us.”
****
We drove to the back of the parking lot behind 600 University Park Place, an office building just off Lakeshore Drive across from Samford University. Homewood High School was about a quarter of a mile to the left and what appeared to be an apartment complex named Brookdale Place was about the same distance to the right. There was also a trailer and a garage which served as an emergency fire station not too far from the office building. A row of nice homes lined the ridge above.
The body was about thirty feet from the back of the parking lot in an overgrown grassy area at the base of the ridge. The man was lying face down in the weeds with his head turned to the left. I recognized him immediately. It was the man who’d come by my office the previous evening, Marshal Brad Johnson.
They had blocked off a large area around the body with yellow crime scene tape. The Medical Examiner was squatting beside the body scribbling on a notepad. Several investigators were spaced out searching the area roped off by the police tape. A small grouping of onlookers were standing just outside the perimeter, talking quietly and watching what was going on. The cold temperature – it was twenty-eight degrees – had no doubt kept a larger crowd from gathering.
“A lady from Brookdale Place was walking her dog and discovered the body,” Radcliffe said.
“Have you talked with anyone else at the apartments?”
“It’s a retirement facility, actually,” she said. “I’ve got a guy over there now. Of course with this weather everything was shut up tight as a drum so it’s doubtful anyone heard anything. I also talked with the firemen over there at the emergency station. Nobody saw or heard anything out of the ordinary.” She turned to the ME. “Okay if we come over?” she called out.
He looked up and nodded, then went back to his note taking.
“I can ID the guy from here,” I said. “No need to further contaminate the crime scene. His name is Brad Johnson. He’s a Marshal for WITSEC. Assigned to their Albuquerque office. He came by my office yesterday afternoon just before five.”
“What did he want?”
“He said he thought one of his witnesses was in the Birmingham area and wanted me to help find him.”
“How did he identify himself?”
“Showed me his badge.”
“Are you sure it was real?”
I shrugged. “Looked real to me.”
“Have you ever seen a Marshal’s badge before?”
“No. You?”
She ignored the question.
“I think we should discuss this at Headquarters,” she said.
****
When we got to Metro Headquarters Detective Radcliffe escorted me to an interrogation room then excused herself. She was back in a few minutes with two steaming cups of coffee and several packets of non-dairy creamer and sugar. She dropped them on the table with a couple of stirring straws.
“I wasn’t sure how you take it,” she said.
“Black is fine. Thanks.” I took a sip and grimaced. It tasted like it had been on the burner for a while.
She sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table and stared at me as she sipped her coffee. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to play it tough or if it was just her nature, but it worked pretty well for her. She seemed at ease and kind of intense at the same time. It was an interesting contrast.
“No donuts?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood a little.
“No. But I do have a few more questions.” She set her cup on the table. “What else can you tell me about your meeting with Johnson yesterday?”
“Not much more than I’ve already told you. He said he was looking for a witness. He said the guy had a daughter in the area. He didn’t disclose the name of either the witness or the daughter. But he did say he had his file at the hotel and he’d bring it by this morning.”
“Did he say what hotel he was staying at?”
“No.”
“Did he say how long he’d been in town?”
“No, but he said he had contacted a couple of other detective agencies and they referred him to me. So he’s probably been here a couple of days.”
“Did he say which agencies?”
“No.”
“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
“No.”
“We’ll check with the rental companies. If he flew in from Albuquerque he’ll have a rental. Did he say anything else about who he had talked with? Did he say anything more about his witness’s daughter or where she lived?”
I shook my head.
“Well, okay then,” she said. “I guess that’s it for now. If I think of anything else I’ll be in touch.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “You brought me over here for that? We could’ve had this discussion at the scene.”
“My boss, Captain Collier, said he wanted to see you. He should be here in a few minutes.”
“In the mean time are you at liberty to share with me what you know?”
“I am but I don’t have much to add. Johnson was shot in the chest, at close range. There’s very little blood. We figure he was shot somewhere else and his body dumped there. The weeds were trampled down a little where someone walked from the parking lot to where the body was left. With all the cold weather the ground’s hard as a rock. No footprints or impressions that are helpful.
“The ME says he’s been dead about eight to ten hours. Of course that’s a swag because of the cold. But if that’s accurate then the shooting took place between ten and midnight. So far in talking to people in the neighborhood no one heard anything or saw anything unusual during that time.”
“You said there wasn’t any ID on the body,” I said.
“He was picked clean. No wallet. No cell phone. No personal items whatsoever. No badge or gun, either. Just your card in the breast pocket of his coat. Whoever did this probably patted him down so they found anything bulky. They probably went through his pockets. But they missed your card.”
She paused to take a sip of coffee, made a face, and set it aside.
“You like Johnson’s witness for this?” I asked.
“He’s the most logical suspect at this point but it’s hard to say. That’s next on my list. Call the Albuquerque office and see what they can tell me. See if we can establish some kind of motive.”
I took a card from my wallet. “I probably won’t be at my office again until Monday. Let me give you my cell number in case you want to get in touch with me for some reason in the mean time. I’d love to know what you find out from the folks in Albuquerque.”
“We’ll see,” she said as I scribbled my number on the back of the card. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath. If WITSEC is involved there probably won’t be much I can tell you.”
Just then Captain Collier came into the room. He was a small man with short gray hair and a weathered face. He was dressed in jeans and running shoes and a green sweatshirt with METRO printed on the front.
“Hey, Mickey,” I said as we shook hands. “Long time.”
“Too long. I came in to find out what was going on with this homicide and instructed Detective Radcliffe to drag your sorry butt over here so I could see you.”
“I’ll get on the phone to Albuquerque,” Radcliffe said. She glanced at her boss. “Excuse me, sir.”
I watched her walk out of the room. Her jeans fit well. When I looked at Collier he was grinning.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
“No, actually, I haven’t. Your vic was supposed to bring donuts to the office this morning.”
“How rude of him to get himself shot before he could feed you.”
Chapter 3
We went to Bogue’s in Southside.
“Best breakfast in town,” Collier said as he mopped up the remaining sausage gravy with the last bite of his biscuit.
“So how are things working out with Metro?” I asked.
“Well, we got off to a little bit of a rocky start, as you can imagine. Way too much politics and bureaucratic bullshit for my taste. But I guess that’s to be expected when you have a bunch of mayors and police chiefs trying to reach an agreement over how something like this should be run. It makes sense to do it when you consider how many cities make up the metropolitan area. You got some places that have a small number of homicides a year. But when they do they need someone investigating who knows what he’s doing. It’s hard for those places to keep a decent staff of detectives. Homicide guys want to work homicides, not the other junk they have to do on the smaller forces.”
“I can see the advantages. But I bet there were a lot of turf wars while they were trying to get this all hashed out.”
“Oh, you bet. Especially at the supervisory levels. The selection process was pretty damn competitive. To be honest I’m surprised I made it.”
“Where do you go from here with this case?” I asked.
The waitress came over and topped off our coffee and scooped up the empty plates.
“Thanks, Hon,” Collier said to the waitress, then looked at me. “We’ll investigate the homicide. And we’ll see what we can learn from the people in Albuquerque. But if their guy is the shooter we may hit a wall. I don’t know how much they’ll share with us.”
“Wouldn’t you have jurisdiction? They can’t withhold evidence.”
“Therein lies the problem. Since he killed a US Marshal, they have a stake in this, too. It could get complicated. And with the shooter being a ghost, so to speak…” He took a sip of coffee. “That’s why I put Radcliffe on the case. She’s a little bulldog and won’t back down just because some federal Marshal waves a badge in her face.”
“What can you tell me about her?” I asked.
“Let’s just say she doesn’t take any crap off any of the guys at Metro.”
“Who’s her partner?”
“Doesn’t have one right now. I had her with a young detective but had to split them up. She’s solo right now until I figure out who to put with her.”
“What happened with her partner?”
“Depends on who you ask,” he said. “She said he made advances. Then, after she turned him down, he started making rude comments and insinuating she was a lesbian. He said she misunderstood his intentions and that he never said anything offensive or acted unprofessionally in any way. Regardless, I let it go on longer than I should have and it eventually boiled over. She decked him.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Right there in the squad room. In front of three other officers. Of course, none of them were willing to own up to knowing what led up to the smack down so it was all a case of he said, she said.”
“I bet it embarrassed the hell out of the guy she decked.”
Collier nodded. “You got that right. He’s still hearing about it. You know how cops can be about something like that.”
“So where did she come from? I haven’t seen her before. Of course, I haven’t been over to your shop in a while, but I’d remember her.”
“She transferred down from Chattanooga but she’s originally from Homewood. Still has family in the area. As a matter of fact, her father and brother are both in law enforcement. Her dad’s retired now but he worked for years for the Jefferson County Sheriff’s department. Her brother’s a Sergeant over in Atlanta.”
“Is she any good?”
“Yeah, she is. She’s tough, smart, and works hard. She respects the law and plays by the book. And she’s not afraid to mix it up if she has to.”
“What about the other part?” I asked.
“What? You mean about her being a lesbian?”
“Yeah. Any truth to the rumor?”
“Nah, I don’t think it’s a rumor so much as a backlash from her ex-partner. He probably wishes it would become a rumor but it hasn’t really caught on. I suspect his ego was bruised a little when she turned him down. She was married for a while, if that means anything.”
“Weren’t we all. How long?”
“Hell, Stover, I don’t know. You want to know that kind of stuff you’re gonna have to ask her.” He paused and a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “But don’t make her mad. I hear she’s got a pretty good right cross.”
****
Later that afternoon I was at home eating a late lunch and watching a basketball game on the TV. Florida was putting a thumping on Georgia. My cell phone chirped and I looked at the display. It said “Metro HQ.” I flipped it open to answer the call.
“Stover.”
“Hey, this is Detective Radcliffe. I spoke with a Marshal Davis at the WITSEC office in Albuquerque earlier today. I told her what was going on over here and she said she’d come see us. She just called back with her travel arrangements. She’s catching an early flight and will be here in the morning at nine-fifteen. She also said she wants to talk to you.”
“Sure. Where do you want to get together and what time?”
“I’m picking her up at the airport and we’re going to the morgue. After that we can swing by your office.”
“Okay. Or I can meet you at the morgue.”
“I guess that’s okay if you don’t mind. The body’s at UAB hospital.”
“I’ll be there around nine-thirty.”
Chapter 4
I don’t know what I thought Marshal Diana Davis would look like, but what I saw when she and Detective Radcliffe came down the hallway to the morgue was definitely not what I expected. She was stunning. Reddish-blonde hair down over her shoulders, pale blue eyes, and high cheekbones with a sprinkling of freckles. She had on a loose-fitting sweater, jeans that weren’t loose-fitting, and designer cowboy boots that probably cost several hundred dollars. With her coat casually draped over her arm she looked like she’d just stepped out of a women’s clothing catalog, not off a pre-dawn flight from New Mexico.
“Alec Stover, Marshal Diana Davis,” Radcliffe said, making the introductions.
She smiled as she shook my hand. “Detective Radcliffe tells me that Marshal Johnson came to see you Friday evening.”
“Yes. He came by just before five. Said he was looking for one of his witnesses who he thought might be in town.”
“That would be Lenny Sutton,” she said.
“I guess. He didn’t tell me his name. He said the guy had a daughter in the area but he didn’t tell me her name, either. I’m presuming it’s not Sutton.”
“No. Lenny Sutton is the ID we set him up with. As a matter of fact, we didn’t know he had a daughter. Evidently he didn’t know about her, either, until a month ago. We advised against contacting her, naturally. Then he dropped out of sight.”
“How long ago was that?” Radcliffe asked.
Davis looked up and down the hall. “Perhaps we could go somewhere a little more private?”
“There’s a waiting room just down the hall,” Radcliffe said. “Let’s go in there.”
Once we were situated Davis continued. “Sutton was assigned to Marshal Johnson. The only problem is that Johnson went on inactive status three weeks ago. No one’s heard from Sutton since then.”
“Inactive status?” Radcliffe asked. “What’s that mean?”
“He was basically put on probation until his status could be reviewed. All his witnesses were reassigned.”
“Why was he put on probation?” Radcliffe asked.
“There had been problems with several of his witnesses over the last six months. Two had to be reprocessed and another was killed in a hit-and-run accident.”
“What do you mean by reprocessed?” Radcliffe asked.
“Moved to new locations. Set up with new identities. We had reason to believe they had been compromised.”
“I’m guessing the hit-and-run accident was somewhat suspicious,” I said.
Davis nodded. “Johnson also had inappropriate contact with two of his female witnesses.”
“Great,” Radcliffe said. “Sounds like he deserved to be on probation.”
“So,” Davis said, “I was surprised when you called to tell me he was in Birmingham. He was prohibited from contacting his witnesses. And our office certainly didn’t send him here to find Sutton.”
“When Johnson came by my office he showed me his badge,” I said. “Would he still have his badge while on inactive status?”
“No. He had to surrender his badge and gun. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have another. Apparently he did.”
“Do you know if he was armed when he came to see you?” Radcliffe asked me.
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, if he was, whoever shot him now has his badge and his gun,” Radcliffe said.
“He also said he had Sutton’s case file,” I said. “He was going to bring it to my office Saturday morning.”
Davis pursed her lips and shook her head. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“We’ve got to find that file.” She turned to Radcliffe. “Do you know where he was staying?”
“Yes. We found out yesterday afternoon. He had a room at the Holiday Inn near the airport. There were a few clothes and toiletries there but nothing else. No personal effects and no WITSEC files. We haven’t released the room yet. I can take you there after we leave here. He also had a rental car that he picked up at the airport but we haven’t located it yet.”
“I guess we need to get busy,” Davis said. “First thing is to ID the body. He didn’t have any immediate family so my office will handle the transportation to Albuquerque as soon as you release it.”
We went into the morgue and an attendant led us to a refrigeration unit along one wall where the bodies were kept. It had three rows of individual horizontal lockers with rolling shelves that pull out.
“After we go by Johnson’s hotel room you want to go talk to Sutton’s daughter?” Radcliffe asked.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Davis said. “We don’t know her name. Sutton may have told Johnson who she is, but no one else at the office knows.”
We stood back as the attendant opened the door to one of the lockers and pulled out the shelf until the head and shoulders of the body were exposed.
“We’ve got another problem,” Davis said. “That’s not Brad Johnson.”
Chapter 5
We were back at Metro Headquarters. Radcliffe was briefing Captain Collier on what we knew.
“Once we realized that our victim was not Brad Johnson, Marshal Davis got in touch with someone at her office and had him email her pictures of Johnson and the missing witness, Lenny Sutton.
“At the hotel we talked with the desk clerk who was working when Johnson checked in on Wednesday. She ID’ed him from the photo so we know he is indeed here in town, somewhere. The maid said the room hadn’t been used since she cleaned it on Thursday. We’ve been over the room thoroughly but didn’t find anything useful. Since Johnson’s not the guy in the morgue and may be alive and well I left a couple of guys at the hotel. They’re instructed to notify me immediately if anyone comes to his room. We also showed the pictures of Sutton and our victim to the hotel employees but no one there has seen either of them.
“We don’t know who the guy in the morgue is. We’re running his prints. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be in the system. What we do know is that he had a US Marshal’s badge when he talked with Stover on Friday and identified himself as Johnson, which does not bode well for the real Marshal Johnson, especially since he hasn’t been back to his hotel room in three days. Of course, whoever killed our victim took his ID and everything else he had on his person…except for Stover’s business card.
“We’ve canvassed the neighborhood around the location where the body was found and no one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary Friday night. At this point we don’t know if the man was killed at the site or somewhere else and his body dumped there but we’re leaning toward the latter.
“We have reason to believe Sutton came here to see his daughter. But we don’t know her name so there’s not much we can do there.”
Captain Collier thought it over for a minute. “Then the only thing on your plate,” he said to Radcliff, “is to identify our John Doe and find out who killed him.” He turned to address Davis. “Of course we’ll share anything that we learn about your case in the process. And we’ll be happy to inquire about your guys as we investigate our homicide.”
“That would be appreciated,” Davis said.
Collier looked at me. “I guess you’re free to go unless either of these ladies has any more questions about your brief encounter with our John Doe.”
“Actually,” Davis said, smiling at me. “I may want to employ your services in helping me find Johnson and Sutton. I need someone who’s familiar with the area and I’m sure you have contacts that would be useful.”
“I’ll be happy to assist,” I said.
“Why don’t we go somewhere for some lunch and discuss how we want to proceed.” She smiled at Radcliffe. “Before you get too busy, I need to get my bags out of your car.”
Radcliffe dug a set of keys out of her pocket and tossed them to me. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind getting her bags for her.”
“Not at all,” I said. “I was a bellhop in a previous life.”
“While he’s doing that I need to step into the little girl’s room,” Davis said.
Radcliffe pointed the way. “Down the hall on the right.”
When I came back a few minutes later they were waiting for me in the hallway.
“I just got a call from the Mountain Brook PD,” Radcliffe said. “They found Johnson’s car behind an office building over on Highway 280.”
****
The car was in a parking deck behind the Mountain Brook Center. There were only two levels to the deck. Two uniformed officers were sitting in their squad car next to a beige Taurus that was parked in the back corner of the first level. One of the officers got out of the squad car as we approached. When we got within about ten feet of the car we could smell the odor. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was noticeable.
“When we found the car it was locked and the keys were in it,” the officer said. “We went ahead and opened it up so we could check it out.”
He opened the trunk. There was a body inside. It looked like it might have been there for a couple of days. The cold weather had slowed the rate of decomp, but it was starting to get a little ripe.
“That’s Marshal Johnson,” Davis said.
“Looks like your plate just got fuller,” I said to Radcliffe.
Chapter 6
Davis and Radcliffe spent Sunday afternoon working on the Johnson case and I made a few phone calls, setting up meetings with some of my contacts. I picked Davis up at her hotel at 10:30am Monday morning.
“I trust you got settled in okay?” I asked as we left the hotel.
“Yes. I picked up a rental car and got checked into my hotel last night. One of the detectives at Metro was happy to help out.”
“I bet,” I said.
I saw a flicker of a smile on her face.
“What happened yesterday after I left?” I asked.
“They took Johnson to the morgue. We processed the scene then had the car towed over to Metro. They’ll be working on it today. It’s a rental so I don’t know if we’ll get anything useful from it. I spent the rest of the afternoon making arrangements for the body to be shipped back to Albuquerque and filing all the required paperwork. When a Marshal gets killed it generates a ton of paperwork, especially when one of his witnesses may be compromised in the process.”
“That’s one of the reasons I went private. I hated all the paperwork.”
She turned in her seat slightly to look at me. “You used to be a cop?”
“Yeah. I started out in the military. Air Force Security Police. Got out after twelve years, then spent another six on the force in Sacramento. I quit and moved back here when my father got sick. Working as a private detective allowed me the freedom to work the hours I wanted so I could spend more time with him. After he passed away I had no desire to go back to police work. I like being my own boss.”
“Sorry to hear about your father. What happened?”
“Cancer.”
“Do you have any other family?”
“No. My mom died while I was still in the Air Force.”
“No wife or significant other?” she asked.
“Not at the moment.”
“That’s surprising. You must have to beat the women off with a stick.”
I glanced at her. She was watching me closely.
“Not so much,” I said.
I let it go without asking about her present status but I noticed she didn’t wear a ring. We were quiet for a few minutes as I turned off Red Mountain Expressway and crossed Highland Avenue to 23rd Street South, then right on 10th Terrace, going the wrong way on the one way street the short distance to the Garage Café. I parked on the right side of the road opposite the little café.
“Who are we meeting here?” Davis asked.
“Bobby Braxton. He’s a bookie. If something’s going on in this area, chances are Braxton knows about it. He’s a good jumping off point. I know you wanted to get started a little earlier, but I don’t think Braxton’s seen the north side of ten in years.”
She looked at me questioningly.
“He likes to sleep in,” I said.
“Got it,” she said, nodding. “Not up before ten in the morning.”
“Actually, I’m surprised he agreed to meet us today. He owes me money.”
“You win a bet or something?”
“No. I did some surveillance work for him a few weeks ago. He thought his girlfriend might be stepping out on him. Turns out she wasn’t.”
“Then he should be happy to pay you for your services.”
“Yeah, well, I figure he’ll want to cut a deal.”
Just then a tall, skinny black guy came around the corner and strolled down the street. He had on a royal blue Adidas warm up suit, tennis shoes that cost no telling how much, and a Nike ball cap turned around backwards on his head. Dreadlocks hung down past his shoulders. He had a Bluetooth device of some kind stuck on his ear and he was gesturing with both hands as he talked.
“Is that Braxton?” Davis asked.
“In the flesh.”
“How do you want to handle this?”
“I’ll start things off and make the introductions. We’ll see what he knows. But feel free to ask any questions you might have.”
He went into the café and we waited another minute to let him get settled, then went in. It was dark inside and we hesitated for a minute for our eyes to adjust. The aroma of coffee brewing filled the place. The café was small but had a relaxed, cozy feel to it. The walls were covered with the typical stuff you’d see in a pub. There was a big, U-shaped bar made of stone on our right. Farther down, at the end of the bar, was a grill area where they made sandwiches. There were small tables and a couple of booths to the left. Braxton was sitting about half way back on the left on a bench against the wall. A table was in front of the bench with a couple of chairs. Over the table there were two tubas hanging from the ceiling with red lights in them. Braxton was typing away on his cell, texting someone. He waved us over.
As we approached his table he looked Davis up and down. He grinned at me. “Damn, Stover, you done upped your game, dawg.”
I pulled a chair out and turned it around backwards. I sat down with my forearms resting on the back. Davis sat down and crossed her legs. Braxton studied the jeans where they stretched tight across her thigh. She looked at him with a slight smile but didn’t say anything.
“What’s up, Brax?” I asked.
“You tell me. You the one called this meeting.” He eyed Davis again. “First off, who is this fine looking thing?”
“A friend of mine from Albuquerque,” I said. “I’m helping her locate somebody. Thought you might be able to help out.”
“You know me. I’m always happy to help out.” He was still looking at Davis. “All the women in Albuquerque as fine as you?”
“I guess that’s a matter of personal preference,” she said.
“Yeah, alright. I get it.” He turned on the bench and held his foot out for me to see. “What you think?”
“Nice kicks,” I said. “What’d you do? Buy them with the money you owe me?”
“Naw, man. I got your money. But, you know, I was thinking maybe we could deal a little. What I owe for what I know.”
“Depends on what you know.”
“Well, I don’t owe you that much.”
“Yeah, but it’s earning interest.”
“Say what? Since when you started charging interest?”
“Since Friday when you didn’t come by my office like you said you would.”
“Aw, man, that’s bullshit. I said I’d try to come by on Friday. I didn’t guarantee I’d be there. Besides, you didn’t say nothing about no interest.”
He waved at a girl restocking the bar with clean glasses and she brought over three cups of coffee. He took a few seconds to shake six packets of sugar into one of the cups, stir it up good, and take a sip.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s get to the point. If I ain’t on my phone I ain’t making money. And I ain’t on my phone right now. What y’all want to know?”
I looked at Davis. She took an iPhone out of her coat pocket and tapped the screen a couple of times. Then she held it out to him.
“I need to know if you’ve heard anything about this guy,” she said. “I have reason to believe he’s in Birmingham and I need to locate him. His name’s Sutton.”
Braxton took the phone from her and studied the picture on the screen. After a second he handed it back to her.
“Can’t say I have. Ain’t technology cool, though? Used to, y’all come around showing cheap-ass looking black and white photos. Now y’all got it on your phone. All digital and color and everything.”
She tapped the screen again and held it out for him to see. “How about this guy?”
Braxton shook his head and she tapped the screen again. He looked at the next picture and pulled back, frowning. “That dude’s seen better days. Let me guess. He’s the stiff that was found over off Lakeshore Drive.”
“What do you know about that?” I asked.
“Nothing, man, I just read the papers.” He looked at Davis. “Which guy y’all looking for?”
She tapped the screen a couple of times and handed him the phone. “This one.”
Braxton studied the picture for a few seconds, then gave the phone back to her.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. You got a number you want me to call or should I run it through Stover?”
“Either one of us is fine,” she said.
She told him her number and he nodded.
“You want to write it down?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I got it.” He looked at me and smiled. “So, how we doing? We good?”
“You gotta be kidding me,” I said. “You don’t know anything but you want to be paid for your time. What are you a freaking lawyer or something?”
“Man, that’s cold.”
He pulled an envelope out of the pocked of his warm up jacket and tossed it on the table in front of me. I studied it for a second, then slid it back across the table.
“Let’s see if you can provide some useful info before we settle up. Go ahead and hold onto that for a few more days.”
“That’s cool,” he said. “But no interest.”
“No interest. By the way, how’s Lakeisha?”
“We ain’t seeing each other no more. Someone told her I hired a private dick to see what she was up to and it pissed her off.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He waved his hand dismissively.
“It’s all good,” he said.
****
After we got outside Davis said, “Think he can help us?”
“He may hear something. He’s got a lot of contacts out there, people who will talk to him who wouldn’t talk to me or you.”
“I didn’t see any notepad or computer or anything. How does he keep his book?”
“He’s got some kind of crazy memory. He may have a written record somewhere. But he operates day-to-day from what’s up here.” I tapped my forehead.
“That’s amazing,” Davis said. “All those numbers and names and teams and dates. If he can keep all that straight he’s a freak. Too bad he doesn’t do something useful with that talent.”
“It’s useful to him. He probably makes more than you and me combined. All of it in cash, under the table, so to speak. That’s why he’s the man for making a bet. No written records to come back and bite you later.”
Chapter 7
We talked to three more of my contacts but no one could offer any help. They all promised to call if they heard anything. Late that afternoon we went looking for Terry Williams. Terry was a doper who lived in a tiny studio apartment downtown not far from my office. But I’d only found him once in his apartment. Most of the time he was on the street begging and panhandling for enough money to buy drugs or booze or both if he had a big day. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties but they’d been tough years.
He was walking down the sidewalk near the Jefferson County Courthouse when we found him. He had on an old trench coat over a hooded sweatshirt and dirty jeans. His long dark hair stuck out from under a red stocking cap and he needed a shave. I drove past him and pulled to the curb and got out.
“Hey, Terry,” I said as he approached.
He stopped and looked at me for a second, then turned and ran in the opposite direction. I took off after him.
“Come on, Terry!” I shouted. “Don’t run!”
He turned right on Park Place and went past the Tutwiler Hotel as hard as he could go, his coat flapping behind him as he ran. As I came around the corner he cut diagonally across Linn Park. He ran by the boulder with the Revolutionary War memorial plaque on it, past the fountain in the middle of the park, and down the steps toward 8th Avenue North. He angled toward the far corner. By then I was gaining on him but he was doing better than usual. I caught him just before he got out of the park. I tackled him in the grass across from the Boutwell Auditorium.
“Why do you do that, Terry?” I asked. “Why do you run? I always catch you.”
He was breathing heavily and coughed as I knelt on his chest.
“But I gotta give you credit,” I said. “You did better this time.”
“I been training,” he said, as he gasped for air.
He took in another deep breath and coughed. I got off him so he could breathe a little easier. And so I could breathe easier, as well. He smelled like he’d just crawled out of a dumpster. I sat in the grass next to him as Davis finally caught up with us. She had a bemused look on her face. I motioned to her and she brought over her phone. She already had the picture of Lenny Sutton ready for viewing. I held the phone out where Terry could see it.
“Have you seen this guy around?”
He looked at the picture for a second then shook his head. I scrolled to the picture of Brad Johnson.
“How about this guy?”
Terry studied it for a second then nodded his head hesitantly.
“Is that a yes, Terry?” I asked.
He nodded his head again.
“Tell me about it.”
“He was in front of the courthouse. He’s a cop, right?”
“US Marshal,” I said.
That seemed to confuse him for a second, then he continued. “He was waiting for someone. Just sitting in his car at the curb. After a while a woman came out of the courthouse. When she walked by he got out and stopped her and showed her his badge. They talked for a minute, then he put her in the car and they drove off.”
“What do you mean he put her in the car?” I asked.
“She didn’t act like she wanted to go with him.”
“Did he force her to get in?”
“Not exactly. But, like I said, she didn’t act like she wanted to go with him.”
“What did she look like?”
“A little shorter than me. Dark hair down to her shoulders. Not much of a figure. Kinda dumpy. Nice clothes, though. And with a briefcase like maybe she’s a lawyer.”
“How old?”
“I don’t know. Thirty-five or forty?”
“What day was this?”
Terry thought about it for a second. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Terry. Think about it. Friday? Thursday?”
“I dunno, man. My days are all kinda the same. They run together. But I think it was Thursday.”
I looked at Davis. “You got any questions?”
She shook her head.
I looked back at Terry. He was still lying on his back but he was at least breathing normally again.
“Next time don’t run,” I said. “Instead of making me chase you we’ll go have lunch and chat like civilized human beings.”
At the mention of food he propped up on his elbows. “We could still go eat,” he said.
“Not this time. You ran, made me chase you. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Well, then, how about a couple of bucks to tide me over?”
I got up and brushed the grass off my pants. “If I thought you’d actually spend it on food instead of dope or cheap wine I might consider it.”
“Come on, man. I’m hungry.”
“Against my better judgment…” I said. I pulled a five out of my wallet and dropped it on his chest. “There’s a Sneaky Pete’s over there. Go get a couple of dogs.”
“I will, man. I swear. Thanks.”
We left Terry lying on the ground and walked back across the park. When we got to the fountain I looked back. Terry got up and hurried off in the opposite direction of the hotdog place.
“Why did he run when he saw you?” Davis asked.
“Terry always runs. Every time I see him he runs. I have no idea why.”
“Does he run from other people, too, or just you?”
“Everyone who tries to talk to him. He’s a runner. Don’t know why.”
Terry disappeared from view and I looked at Davis.
“What do you make of the woman Johnson grabbed coming out of the courthouse?” I asked.
“Well, she’s too old to be Sutton’s daughter, but not the daughter’s mother. If Johnson knew Sutton was coming to see his daughter then he could just watch the family and wait until he showed up. He wouldn’t have to go out searching for him. Of course he’d have to know the daughter’s name.”
“But no one in your office knows her name or the name of her mother.”
“No,” Davis said. “But now we have reason to believe Mom’s an attorney.”
“Yeah, that narrows the field down to a few thousand.”
“Okay, okay. But we can cut that number way down if we look for female attorneys who were on the docket last week.”
“If she is indeed a lawyer.”
“You got any better ideas?” she asked.
We walked back to the courthouse.
****
We went to the County Clerk’s office. A young woman behind the counter smiled brightly at us. “Good afternoon,” she said. “Can I help you?”
She was cute and perky with lots of blonde curls and very white teeth.
Davis held up her badge. “Good afternoon. I’m Marshal Davis. This is Alec Stover. We’re trying to identify a woman who was seen leaving the courthouse on Thursday of last week. We believe she’s an attorney. The problem is that we don’t know her name. We know what she looks like, but we really need to know her name.”
“You said she was seen leaving the courthouse?” she asked.
Davis nodded and the woman looked a bit perplexed.
“There are a lot of people who come and go. Do you know if she was in court or filing documents or what?”
“Well, we don’t know,” Davis said. “She was seen leaving the courthouse. She’s about five-five with shoulder-length brown hair. Slightly overweight. Late thirties or early forties. Well-dressed with a briefcase.”
“That could be about half the women who come in here every day,” the woman said. She glanced at me and gave a little shrug. “I mean, I don’t know how I can help you.”
Davis sighed and shook her head. “The woman was seen talking with a US Marshal,” she said. “That Marshal was later found dead. Murdered. Now, we don’t know if this woman is responsible or if she may have witnessed something or if she can tell us anything that might help us find who killed the Marshal. She may even be in danger herself. But we need to find her. To do that we need to know her name.”
“I’m terribly sorry. But without knowing why she was here I can’t begin to help you find out what her name is.”
“Is there a court docket or something we can look at?” I asked.
“There’s a docket for the week, but do you know if she was in Circuit Court or District Court? Civil or criminal division? I mean, she could’ve just been filing a motion. And even if you knew the court, her name might not be on the docket. Sometimes it’s the firm’s name, not a particular attorney.”
She was getting frustrated with us and it was time to take a different approach.
“Look, I’m sorry…what’s your name?” I asked.
“Tammy.”
“Thank you for your help, Tammy.”
I put on an embarrassed look and smiled ruefully at her. She seemed to relax a little.
“We’re kind of stuck here,” I continued, “so why don’t we look at this from another angle. What was happening on Thursday? Was there a trial going on or something that might help us narrow things down a bit? We need your help, Tammy. If the lady we’re looking for is an attorney, what would she be doing here on Thursday?”
“Well, let’s see…”
She moved behind a computer on the counter and clicked the mouse a few times. She pursed her lips and studied the screen, then clicked a few more times.
“Okay. It looks like the only trial on Thursday was in Judge Thompson’s court. You probably should talk with his secretary. Her name is Rhoda Crabtree. She would know the attorneys and could tell you if the lady you described was in court last week.”
“Great. Thank you so much, Tammy.” I winked at her and she blushed slightly. “Where would we find Miss Crabtree?”
“Oh…of course.”
She gave us the room number and pointed us to the elevators. As we were leaving I mouthed another “Thank you” and she smiled in return.
****
We had an easier time with Rhoda Crabtree. Rhoda was middle-aged, stern, and very efficient. Davis described the lady and Rhoda immediately had a name.
“Mary Baker.”
“Do you know how we can contact Miss Baker?” Davis asked.
“Of course. She’s with Barclay, Finch, and Baker.”
She excused herself and came back in a moment with a business card.
“Their offices are on Twentieth Street just a few blocks from here.”
I looked at the card. “I know the address. Thank you.”
As we were leaving I asked, “What do you want to do? Go back to Metro and report what we know or go talk to Baker?”
“Well, what do we know?” Davis asked. “Someone at the courthouse gave us the name of someone who looks like someone who was seen leaving the courthouse on Thursday. We don’t even know for sure what day it was that your informant saw her. We certainly don’t know if she’s the person we’re looking for.”
“But if she is the person, then Radcliffe is going to want to talk to her. It might be advisable to let them take the lead.”
“And, if she is the person,” Davis said, “then she’s tied directly to my search for Sutton. She’s the mother of his daughter. I need to talk to her. She’s the key to finding him. On the other hand, if she’s not the person we’re looking for then Radcliffe isn’t wasting her time talking to her and we’re not wasting our time waiting for her to talk to her.”
We were outside now, standing on the courthouse steps.
“Which way?” she asked. “Are we walking or driving?”
“Her office is only three blocks away,” I said. “It’ll be easier to just walk than try to find a parking place.”
Chapter 8
The offices of Barclay, Finch, and Baker were on the fourth floor of a building on Twentieth Street. The lobby was nicely furnished but small. There was a receptionist sitting behind a glass partition, talking on the phone using a headset. When she concluded her call she punched a button on the phone’s console and looked up at us.
“May I help you?” she asked
“We’re here to see Mary Baker,” Davis said.
“One moment please.”
She punched a button on the phone and told someone that there were visitors in the lobby for Mrs. Baker. After a moment a tall, slender woman came out. She had long red hair and a thin face.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Mary Baker?” Davis asked.
“No, I’m her assistant. She’s not in today. Did you have an appointment that I missed?”
“No,” Davis said. “We were just hoping to talk to her. When will she be back?”