The Watchman (6 page)

“Why should I?”

“No reason. It just seems strange. You call us Friday to report abuse at the judge's home, and when his security alarm goes off this morning, we find you a few blocks away.”

“Life's full of coincidences. I'm just a guy on his way to breakfast. May I ask if someone has broken into the judge's home, why you're stopping me? Shouldn't you try to catch the burglars before they get away?”

Duncan's jaw tightened. “You telling me how to do my job?”

I shook my head. “Just a suggestion from a concerned taxpayer.”

“You should know,
mister taxpayer
, Crown Heights has more than one unit on the streets. It might also interest you to know Judge London has cameras throughout his home.” Duncan gave the top of my SUV a sharp slap and strolled back toward the patrol car. “Watch your step, Adams,” he called over his shoulder. “The good judge doesn't like you even a little bit.”

“That makes us even. I don't like him either.”

If the judge's cameras caught any part of my reappearance, it would mean trouble in more ways than I wanted to consider.

 



 

Jake Stein's Home

I eased my SUV back onto the street, and Ryan and Duncan moved in behind me. They stayed in my rearview mirror until I reached Jake's elegant address, and they watched as I picked up the intercom phone at the gate. When the portal swung open, they drove away.

I intended to visit Jake Stein soon, anyway, and this seemed a good time. However, I had embellished the truth a tad. Jake wasn't an early riser.

A former client introduced me to Jacob Stein six years ago at the athletic club. I played a couple of racquetball games with Jake. He hammered me like a jackhammer on the court that day. That's why he liked me. He becomes attached to people he can beat.

He was twice my age and half my size but most people never noticed Jake's stature. Intellectually, he was usually the biggest man in the room.

Imposing white columns greeted me as I drove up the circular drive and parked at the front door. Jake built the antebellum in the heart of one of the coldest places on the continent. The five-acre estate stood ankle deep in snow, stark and conspicuous with its southern architecture.

Jake opened the door wearing a silk bathrobe and cravat with a scowl on his handsome face. “Adams, do you know what time it is?”

“Yeah, it's time grumpy old men were out of bed. You're burning daylight, Stein.”

He stepped back for me to enter. “Who's old and grumpy? I'm just a retired gentleman trying to enjoy his
retirement.
”

“Well, get up and enjoy it. I have a couple of clients for you.”

“Do you know what the word
retired
means? I have a dictionary in the library; I'll look it up for you. You probably can't spell it. Is this another freebie case you found for me?”

“She doesn't have a dime, but her husband's loaded. What do you need with money? You're richer than Bill Gates.”

“That's because all the cases I had before I retired weren't pro bono.”

“Think of it this way, Jake. You'll be doing God's work.”

He scowled. “God doesn't pay until you die, and I'm not ready to go.”

“Stop complaining and fix me some breakfast while I tell you about my case.”

“You drag me out of bed at seven in the morning, and you want breakfast, too?” He shook his head and moved toward the kitchen. “The day we met must have been my lucky day, Adams. I can't imagine what I did to God to deserve you.” Jake really loved me. He just liked to complain.

A maid clad in gray rayon entered from the den. “Do you want me to make breakfast, Mr. Stein?”

He waved her off with a grin. “No, Ruby. I'll take care of this freeloader myself.”

He led me into a gourmet kitchen and pulled down a pan from over the island. While Jake whipped up omelets, I made toast and coffee and filled him in on Rachel and Cody. Jake's a great cook. He could make another fortune in the restaurant business.

I continued my story while we ate.

Jake gave a long low whistle. “If you take on Harry London, you'll take on a world of trouble. You know that, don't you? I heard about this at the club over the weekend. London didn't go to jail. He claimed his son fell out of his treehouse. The police chose to believe him rather than deal with it.” Jake lifted a carafe from the table and refilled our cups. “London said his wife cooked up the stunt with a private eye to get the kid away from him. I should have known it was you. He'll be coming after you, big time.”

“What can he do?”

“He can file kidnapping charges against you, for one. In any court system other than Hebron's, it wouldn't be so easy. You know the corruption downtown as well as I do. The best way to fight it is for your client to file for a divorce.”

“What would happen to Cody during the divorce proceeding?”

“Courts almost always lean toward split-custody. I don't think I could get her full guardianship without proof of abuse. Has the kid seen a doctor?”

Rachel wouldn't leave Cody alone with his father for a minute, much less part time. I couldn't blame her. He might go into a rage and kill the kid.

“Rachel is taking Cody as soon as she can get an appointment. She'll never go for anything less than full custody.”

Jake sipped the coffee, his brow wrinkled in a frown. “Then you'd better keep the family out of sight for a while. I don't want to know where you've hidden them. London might try to force me to tell where they are. Let me know when you get the X-rays and report from the physician. If they prove mistreatment, then I can take him on.”

Jake folded his napkin and placed it beside his plate. “This thing could turn ugly very fast. You need to avoid the police; London will be gunning for you. My sources tell me he has some heavy connection with the less desirable elements up Chicago way. His rise to power was too fast to be honest.”

Just what I needed. Harry London and the mob.

“You realize I haven't handled anything in the divorce and domestic violence field in years.”

“Jake, I would trust you with anything. This family needs help, and you're the best man I know for the job.”

“I'll do what I can.” Jake sounded almost humble. He picked up a piece of toast and offered one to me. I shook my head. “You never said how you solved that Texas case so quickly. Want to enlighten me?”

A subject I preferred not to discuss, but I owed Jake the details. He financed the trip. My bank balance at the time hovered around five dollars.

“Some things are difficult to explain, but I'll try. The news covered the kids disappearing in the Dallas area, five in just over a year. The morning I borrowed the money from you, I'd watched the news and learned a little girl had just vanished. The reporter at the scene stood in front of the parents' home, lots of people milling around in the background.”

Jake waved his hand in a rolling motion, anxious for me to get on with the story.

“One guy in the crowd caught my attention. At first, I figured he just wanted to get his mug on the news, but he looked into the camera as most fifteen-minutes-of-fame jerks do. He seemed please with himself, rather than ‘hey-look-I'm-on-TV.' It hit me that this might be the killer. Don't ask me how I knew...but I did, and if the police didn't catch him that day, he would kill that little girl.

“George flew me all the way to DFW, and I hopped a cab to police headquarters. You can imagine my reception. Like they needed an unknown private eye from Wyoming riding in to tell them their business.”

Jake scowled at me. “And this perp took one look at your Honest-Joe face and spilled his guts.”

I grinned and shrugged. “Pretty much.” I sipped my coffee. Some of the details I couldn't confide to Jake.

One of the detectives gave me a friendly ear, and I convinced him to get the news tapes from all the disappearances. This wasn't anything new for police departments. They routinely check bystanders after a crime and, in fact, they still had the tapes. They'd already checked out my guy and cut him loose.

We viewed the tapes and the guy was visible in every crowd scene filmed after the children vanished. I asked them to bring him back in for questioning.

Police interviewers got nowhere with the perp, Willy Jackson. He stalled for two precious hours. Finally, I asked if they'd give me a shot at him, and they agreed to let me have thirty minutes. What did they have to lose? Their case was going nowhere.

My friendly detective let me into the interview room.

Willy Jackson was a short man, about fifty pounds overweight with thinning brown hair.

“Hi Willy. I'm detective Noah Adams. You want something to drink? Coke, coffee, water?” I reached out and shook his hand. I almost gagged. It felt like sticking my hand in an open sewer, but it gave me all the details I needed.

“I'll take a water,” he said.

I had to keep it together. A child's life depended on turning this creep. The problem, how to get the information to the cops watching me in the room next door without revealing how I knew.

I leaned forward in the chair, watching his eyes. “We know you took that little girl, Willy. People saw you. We even know the area where you took her. You can make it easy on yourself by giving us the address. Maybe keep you off death row.”

He scoffed. “Sure you do. You don't know squat.”

“Ah, but we do. You were careless, Willy. We know your history, what your father did to you. I understand, Willy. What you're doing...it isn't your fault.”

He danced me around until my time was up, and I gave it one last shot. “Willy, have you ever considered that little girl feels exactly like you did after your father abused you? She's hurting, Willy. You can stop the pain.”

His eyes filled with tears. He broke down and gave me the address.

The sad part was his father helped create the monster Willy became.

Naturally, the cops were curious about my knowledge of his past. I convinced them it was just lucky profiling.

What happened to those five children still haunted my dreams.

Solving that case brought me a lot of notoriety I didn't need any calls from hurting parents across the country whom I couldn't help. I didn't have all the answers. I wished to God I had.

Jake and I finished breakfast in silence. I pushed back my chair, slapped his shoulder, and went to the entryway. A fast scan of the street told me I could leave. Not a patrol car in sight.

Reaching for the doorknob, I shifted back to Jake. “Thanks for breakfast. By the way, you should know. Harry London may have pictures of me inside his home, taken this morning by his security cameras.”

A deep groan from behind me reached my ears as the door clicked shut.

 



 

Hole In-The-Wall Café, Hebron

I left Jake's place, called Amos Horne, and invited him to a late lunch. Since I stood him up on Friday, he accepted and said he'd meet me at one o'clock. We usually met at The Hole in the Wall, one of his favorite places. Appropriately named, the café looked like a dump, but a clean dump. I'd never figured out whether it was designed ambiance or just run down, but they served the best hamburgers in the free world.

In most situations, Amos would provide details on a case. I wanted to pick his brain about the disappearance of Abigail Armstrong. The department frowned on sharing police records with civilians, but Amos never worried about the rules.

I arrived early and took a seat by the window. Amos pulled his unmarked car in beside my SUV and untangled his big frame from behind the wheel. He glanced around, taking in everything at once and then sauntered into the entrance. A cop's habit. High cheekbones and an easy grace reflected his Cherokee heritage. Amos wore his ethnicity with pride. At thirty-five, and a twelve-year veteran of the HPD, he held the distinction of being the youngest detective in the department. But then, there were only two.

I'd learned to live with it but never enjoyed the freaky nature of my gifts. The sorrow, almost pain, to discover someone I admired and trusted could have feet of clay. This probably explained why I'd only found three real friends in my lifetime.

Jake and Amos were two of the three―not perfect, but good people. Public faces seldom reveal what goes on inside. Outward confidence can hide a mass of internal turmoil. With Jake and Amos, what you saw was what you got. Jake was complicated, precise, organized and crafty, where Amos tilted to the other extreme.

Amos had developed a paunch from lack of exercise and eating the wrong foods, but the diet hadn't affected his investigative skills. We partnered on the force after going through the police academy together. Our friendship remained strong, even though he never forgave me for deserting him to go into the P.I. racket.

Life as a rookie cop hadn't worked for me. A loner by nature, I had an aversion to getting trapped in a job with too many rules and too many bosses. Not to mention some of the cops made the crooks I hauled off to jail look like saints. So I bailed.

As my own boss, I could choose the people I worked with. The pay wasn't much better and the benefits lousy, but I slept well at night.

I joined Amos at the order line. We worked our way to the front and Marie, the clerk behind the cash register, greeted us with a bright smile on her pretty black face. “Hi, Amos, Noah. What'll it be today, the usual?” Marie had a photographic memory.

We nodded.

The usual for me consisted of a burger with everything, fries, and a large iced tea. The usual for Amos was a gastronomic nightmare. Two cheeseburgers with the works, which included jalapeno peppers, a double order of onion rings, and a super size soda.

Marie wrote our order and names on two brown paper bags. Later the cook would place the finished order in the paper sacks. Efficiency in action.