Smith Investigation Series Box Set 1 (2 page)

Chapter 2

I had ridden for hours yesterday and had gotten home long after nightfall. I had used every ounce of energy, which helped me sleep better.

In fact, I felt so good in the morning, I even dared to start cleaning my house.

I reprimanded myself for getting too careless and letting things fall into disarray for so long. I really needed a change, to get out more, maybe finally learn to cook a proper meal.

After spending half a day tidying up, I surveyed my quarters and smiled. “Good job, Petty Officer 1st Class!” I praised myself.

It was time for lunch so I decided to try my hand at some chicken and rice. Why the Hell not? I was a grown woman after all.

My newfound courage kept me going through the trouble of defrosting the chicken breast and cutting the vegetables, but I found myself facing another great problem quite soon. How do you cook rice?

“Let’s ask Google,” I said, and turned my old laptop on. I wasn’t sure it still worked. Last time I had used it was six months ago, when I had finished the ordeal of writing that damned book.

I was searching for the best proportion of water to rice, when my phone rang. I frowned. Nobody called me.

Intrigued by the unfamiliar number, I picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Rob?”

“Oh, Smith. Yes, it’s Rob. What’s up?”

I heard him clear his throat before speaking again.

“I was wondering how were things going,” he started.

“Well. Nothing changed since yesterday, you know?”

“Yes, sorry. I know.”

“Richard Smith, spill it. What’s going on?”

He went silent for a moment, and I could picture him trying to gather his words.

“I… How would you feel about doing me a favor? As an old friend.”

“Sure. Anytime, buddy. What is it?”

I heard him exhale, noticeably more relaxed.

“You remember what I told you about me having my own firm now?”

“Gee, Smith, I’m not that old! Of course I remember. What about it?”

“I’ve just opened it last month, you know. And it’s going well, with my old contacts and everything. Mostly missing persons, divorce investigations, the usual.”

“Uhuh.” I was starting to feel irritated by his beating around the bush. I knew he had to ask something of me and, by the sound of it, he knew I wouldn’t like it and it drove me crazy.

“I got a case last week. It’s different, big.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes, definitely. If I solve it, it’ll help my business a lot.”

“The kind of case that’ll put your name out there,” I finished for him, impatiently.

“Yes, that kind.”

“So, what’s the favor?” I had a suspicion, but I chose to keep it to myself.

“Well, you see, when I said the case was different, I meant it’s a hard one.”

“You never had trouble before.”

“No, I know, but with the business that I have to run and everything else, I can’t focus as much as I’d like to.”

“So hire someone.”

“I did. I have a team. We’re four in all, but with me managing the firm and…”

“Yeah, you’re left with just three people. It sounds manageable to me.”

I was starting to cut him off more often, but I couldn’t help it. Would he just get to the point already?

“It would be, sure, but they're all young, inexperienced. Don't get me wrong, they’re all eager to work, but there’s only so much one can do without some experience to go on.”

“I see.”

“I tried with my old contacts, but they’re all busy or, you know, life got in the way.”

“And you want me to help you out,” I finished, rolling my eyes.

“Yes.” He had finally manned up and admitted it. Now it was out and in the open.

I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have run out of words.

“I don’t know, Smith. I’m retired,” I said, sighing.

“I know, I know. But I think you’d be perfect for the job.”

“Just this job?”

“Yes, just one case. Do you want in?”

I couldn’t break the man’s heart. He sounded so hopeful. But I didn’t feel I wanted back into the game either.

“Let me think about it, Smith. This is not something I can just agree to on the spot,” I finally said, trying to sound non-committal.

“Sure, of course. Take your time.”

“When do you need an answer?”

“This week would be best but, like I said, take your time, Rob.”

“OK. Send me the file. I’d like to see what I’m dealing with.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll call you, Smith,” I said, eager to hang up.

“Thank you, Rob. Really.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“I know. But thanks for considering it.”

“Alright, you rascal! Don’t blackmail me emotionally. You know I’m not good with that.”

He laughed and I smiled, a little bit more relaxed.

“What the Hell?” I said to myself, after I hung up. There was no way I would go back into the PI business. It just didn’t seem appropriate.

Chapter 3

Shortly after I had finished my lunch, which I couldn’t actually enjoy with Smith proposition on my mind, I saw that an email was waiting for me. I opened it and downloaded the attached file.

“I’d better get this over with,” I said to myself, refusing to fall for the old habit of snuggling with a coffee while reading whatever investigation I had been given. I was surprised at how easily it had come back to me, like the two years that had passed since I last worked a case were meaningless.

There was not a lot of information in the file, and I felt that Smith was holding out on me. “Then, again, I am not really on his team,” I reasoned, trying to chase away the offense I felt.

The first thing I learned was that the client, a black man by the name of Jeremiah Gold, was already imprisoned; wrongfully, he claimed. I rolled my eyes and looked away.

“The bastard,” I said, under my breath. He knew about me, and he still dared to ask me to look at this? “Bastard! Bastard!”

I started pacing the room trying to calm myself down to a manageable level, before calling him back.

“How dare he?” I asked, talking to myself. “The bastard! Who does he think he is?”

I gulped down some ice cold water, the brain freeze taking my mind momentarily off my anger. Then, I took a few deep breaths and dialed Smith’s number.

“What was
that
?” I started, unable to stop myself.

“Sorry?” a female voice answered. I checked the number again, to make sure I had the right one, but I remembered I had hit redial, so I couldn’t have called someone else by mistake.

“Who is this?” I asked. “I’m calling for Richard Smith.”

“There’s a lady for you, boss,” I heard the girl say, accompanied by various cheering sounds from a number of people on the other end.

“Thank you, Spike. Rob, that was fast! Have you decided yet?”

He sounded happy and it irritated me. “Yes. I’m not going to do it.”

Silence. “Are you sure?” he finally asked, his voice weaker.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not working with convicts,” I said, certain of myself.

“You haven’t read the whole file, have you?”

“I don’t need to. I learned what I needed to make my decision from the beginning. You have to know that all convicted men say they’re innocent. The lucky few who can afford to hire people like you are no different. I cannot even imagine how you can take this man’s money, especially since there’s a strong possibility he made it illegally doing God knows what…”

“He was a gardener, Rob,” he cut me off, sounding annoyed.

“Irrelevant. I do not believe in his innocence, and I don’t want to work this case. I’m sorry. I can’t help you, Smith.”

“You don’t need to believe in his innocence. I don’t want you to. You’ve made this mistake before, and we both know where it got you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he recanted.

“No, by all means, spell it out.”

He fell silent for a second, and I could hear him breathing loudly, trying to calm down.

“Look, I get that you might feel uncomfortable, but I think it’ll do you good to work again.”

“I don’t remember asking you what would or wouldn’t do me good, Smith. And yes, I got burned once before by people pretending to be innocent. That’s why I won’t get into it now. You should’ve known better than to ask me to do this.”

“Maybe you should take some time, cool off, reconsider.”

“I know what I need to do, and it does not involve working for convicts!” I snapped.

“You know what? You’re not in any position to judge anyone, much less after reading just one paragraph about the case. I don’t know what makes you act like this. This is not the Rob I knew, and it is definitely not the one I like. That Rob would’ve wanted to know as much information as possible before making a decision. Especially since someone’s life depends on it. And the life of his family.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“What? You want me to spell it out? Fine, you weren’t burned by anyone, you burned yourself. You got too close to the case. You knew better than that. You had experience, but you couldn’t look past your own military connection. It’s your fault, nobody else’s. Especially for how you have become now. You have nobody to blame but yourself, so don’t act all hurt and bitter towards people that want to help. You have no right. You know how much I wanted to help. I was the only one that stuck around after you chose to drive everyone away, after everyone left without looking back.”

“You left too, Smith. And you didn’t look back either. Don’t tell me what a help you have been, because you haven’t done anything. I didn’t ask for nor want your help, so don’t try to force me into feeling guilty for something that didn’t happen.”

“Fine, if you want to live like that, be my guest. I see that the old Rob I loved and respected, the one that acted like a damned Navy diver, is gone. You’re just a washed out ex-PI, with nothing to show for it. Maybe you can write another one of your damn books, impress some strangers with your exciting past. You can lie to them, but not to me. Or to yourself.”

I was speechless. The bastard had hit me under the belt, and I felt tears prickling my eyes. I couldn’t stand the conversation any longer. I hung up with no goodbye.

Chapter 4

I sat on the couch, the struggle having consumed my energy down to the last drop. I didn’t even turn the lights on, and now the darkness enveloped me like a coat made out of my own sadness.

I had been so enraged by Smith’s words that I couldn’t sleep last night. I spent it pacing the room and cursing at him in every way I knew how. By morning, I was spent, exhausted after fighting with myself for hours, and filled with bitterness.

At first, I had been mad at him for being a bastard. His words had resounded in my ears over and over, every time hurting more than the last. Then, it started to sink in.

I kept thinking about what he had said, about what I’d become, and, after spending all day slumped down on the couch, much like I was now, I reached the dreaded conclusion.

He was right. As much as it pained me to admit it, the bastard was entirely right.

I
had
become a bitter old wreck. I
was
a washed out ex-PI and I had, indeed, written that God-awful book to make myself feel better.

“What am I doing?” I asked myself aloud. I eagerly wanted to know the answer to that question, but I was much too weak to actually admit to myself that I was wasting away, contributing a big, fat nothing to society.

What hurt me the most was his remark about my past in the Navy. I never thought I would ever think I was anything but Petty Officer 1st class Robin Walsh. Even after my disillusionment with the Navy and my voluntary transfer to fleet reserve, and even during my eight years as a PI, I never regarded myself as being anything but a Navy diver.

Had everything been reduced to nothing? Had
I
reduced everything to nothing?

Was this the change I had been looking for?

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t find the answers to my questions. All I was certain of was that
I
had
to do something.

I shook my head as if to dispel the cobweb of my own misery and rose.

If I was to do this, I needed coffee. Lots of it.

I turned on the lights, went into the kitchen to brew myself the strongest coffee I knew how to make, and then returned to the couch. I had work to do.

My old laptop took its time to come to life. While waiting, I went to the bedroom and grabbed a soft blanket. I needed my old gear. It was mandatory.

With the laptop before me, I opened the file Smith sent me and proceeded to read it. All of it this time.

The case involved Jeremiah Gold, a black, thirty-four year old man, who had been accused, convicted, and imprisoned for murdering Miles Cooper II, a college student at the time.

According to the police report, the crime happened last year on November 23rd, and had been one of opportunity, which puzzled me.

Gold had been hired by the victim’s family to attend to their “small garden”, as they called it in their statement. By the looks of it, it seemed to be more of a private park than a garden, which made me ask myself why would Gold give up such a lucrative opportunity for the one hundred dollar gold locket that had gone missing from the body, a locket that was never found to this day.

It didn’t make any sense.

I looked for my notepad and moaned in protest for having to walk to my bedroom and take it out of the nightstand. I was starting to get so comfortable on the couch.

Once having all the tools of the trade at arm's length, I took a sip of coffee and continued with the case file, scribbling down notes along the way.

The victim had been stabbed to death several times, so much that it could be called overkill, which suggested a personal motivation behind the crime, but I saw no mention of this possibility in the police file. The murder weapon had not been found either.

“There wasn’t enough for an arrest!” I exclaimed, somewhat displeased with that fact.

I went back to Jeremiah Gold. His records showed that he had been convicted for gang related activities once before. “The man was selling pot on the street corner, for goodness sake,” I commented, shaking my head.

Besides, it had happened so far back in his past, I suspected even his wife didn’t remember it.

Speaking of his wife, I looked for her statement. “Well, what a surprise,” I said. There was no statement. “This story is starting to stink badly.”

Aside from Gold and his employees’ statements, there was only one other. Reading it, I understood why the police had settled on Gold and never considered anyone else.

The victim's best friend, another young man, by the name of Mitchell Larsen, middle child of yet another prominent family, had declared that he had been suspicious of Gold for a long time, given his past crimes, and that he wouldn’t put it past the man to give into the temptation of the gold locket.

I frowned. “Really?”

Shaking my head, I turned to the accused’s statement. He had been consistent over the entire investigation and trial, as short as they both were. He kept saying that he didn’t do it, and that he didn’t even know the young man he had been accused of murdering. That sounded plausible enough. He hadn’t worked for the Coopers for more than a week before the incident, but I tried to hold my own opinion until I had more information.

The police had worked under the assumption that, on the night of the murder, Gold had snuck onto the property using the access key he had been given as a contractor for the estate, and had brutally murdered Cooper II with a knife, current whereabouts unknown. Then he had taken the golden locket by pulling it with such force, the thick chain had left bloody bruises on the victim’s neck. Strangely, though, it seemed that he had taken his time to stash the body in one of the unlocked sheds, which he must’ve known his crew would have used the next day.

“What the Hell?”

This didn’t look plausible at all. “Who wrote this garbage?” I asked myself, looking for the name of the officer in charge of the investigation.

“Michael Benton. What was wrong with you, Detective?”

I had run into Benton before, during my previous years as a PI, and he had never struck me as a careless man. “Maybe he designated some rookie to do his paperwork,” I suggested.

But it still didn’t make sense. The whole business around the murder looked suspicious, if not damn right dubious.

I noted my concern and checked to see if there was anything else to read.

“What the Hell?” I exclaimed again. It seemed to be the word of the day today.

I felt desolate from the lack of information. The investigation was sloppy, ridiculous even. Definitely not the usual work of Detective Benton and his team.

I reached for the phone, a frown plastered across my forehead.

“Hello?” I heard Smith’s sleepy voice.

“We need to talk to Gold’s former employees,” I said, realizing it was past midnight.

“What?”

“We… You need to talk to Gold’s former employees. This investigation looks like an amateur job. Sorry for waking you up at this hour, but I got lost in this file, and I didn’t realize the time.”

“Rob? What are you doing?”

“What? Helping your ass. What does it sound like I’m doing?”

I heard Smith moving at the other end, probably getting out of bed and away from his sleeping wife.

Waiting for him to speak, I grew nervous for the upcoming conversation. I hoped he would not state the obvious and make the matters worse for me.

“OK, so, talk with Gold’s employees. Anything else?”

I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath.

“The entire investigation is weak. I need more information. Have you left out anything from the file?”

“Nope. That’s all I’ve got to go on.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

“I have someone tracking Gold’s wife but, so far, nothing new.”

“What is your team waiting for? Don’t they know how to do basic stuff?”

“Me, Rob. They’re waiting for me to tell them what to do. I told you they’re green, and I have other cases to work on too.”

“Whatever. You need to pull yourself together if you want to solve this, Smith.”

“Look who’s talking.”

We said nothing for a second before bursting into laughter.

“Fair enough. Oh! And I need a one-on-one with Benton. I know him; something's not right about this whole thing.”

“
You
need?”

“Yes! Who else is going to save your ass, Smith?” I tried to joke. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t go into the whole ‘you said you won’t do it’ business.

He chuckled. “OK, that can be arranged. I’m going back to sleep now, Rob.”

“Wait, there’s more! What about the murder weapon? And Gold’s gang affiliation?”

“Tomorrow, Rob. 8 AM sharp. I’ll text you the address.”

“What?”

“We’re not going to work through the phone, Rob. You’re coming to the office tomorrow.”

I raised my eyebrows, unsure of what I had just gotten myself into.

“Good night, Rob.”

“Good night.”

I placed the phone on the coffee table and leaned back. “I’m going to work tomorrow,” I said, unable to suppress a smile.