Jaded Justice

Jaded

Justice

Richard Caines

Jaded Justice

Copyright © 2012 Richard Caines

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0186-7 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0187-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0185-0 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900808

Printed in the United States of America

Abbott Press rev. date: 1/27/2012

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Epilogue

Chapter One

I had been observing the house since watching Anne Blackmon enter two hours earlier. It was an easy case for a private detective who had worked hundreds of divorce cases. I had been hired by her husband’s lawyer to gather the facts and document the evidence into an airtight framework. The law firm’s client was going to get this divorce and not pay one nickel in alimony. I did a lot of private detective work for Stein, Stein & Murphy PC, Attorneys at Law, and knew that they never lost a case that cost a client money. They were very good attorneys and, more importantly, they paid well for my services.

The woman I had been tailing met with her companion at this house. Things appeared quiet with a light rain falling. From my vantage point I could see no movement in the house. The lights in the front of the house were turned off, but I could see a dim light reflecting on the blinds of an upstairs bedroom window. The blinds were closed tightly, trapping what appeared to be light from a low wattage lamp inside the bedroom. The lamp gave the blinds a soft glow clearly accentuated by the dark night. I leaned back against the car door and tried to get into a more comfortable position. Experience told me that it could be a long night and I would not be enjoying the illicit warmth and comfort I visualized was happening inside the upstairs bedroom. Pouring coffee from a well used thermos, I knew I needed to remain alert to any changes that would allow me to video evidence for my clients. Forcing my mind not to think of what was going on upstairs wasn’t easy. Not that I really gave a damn. It was not my problem what people did in their private lives. Fortunately, a fifty percent divorce rate kept my bank account comfortably in the black. My job was to collect the evidence. It was someone else’s responsibility to judge and act on the consequences.

Looking all around in every direction, I could see nothing moving. The street was deserted and quiet. Perhaps it was too quiet, but since I didn’t see anything I settled down and turned my focus back to the house I was monitoring across the street.

Bored, half dozing, and trying to stay awake, I began listening to a tape of an old radio show through my earphones hoping this would relieve the monotony. Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the entire street, followed by a clash of thunder that was so close it rocked my car. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly I spilled the thermos of coffee all over the front of my shirt and on the seat of the car. I scrambled to recover and grabbed some paper towels I had in the glove box. Panicky, I could only think of the potential stains on my new BMW 740i. Moving inside the car wasn’t easy with my six foot, 210 pound body. It must have looked like a comic scene at the circus as I rolled out the door backward on the wet grass at the curb. My attention was directed at the spill when a sudden thunderous explosion ripped through the top floor bedroom of the house I had been watching. One third of the roof and bedroom were instantly gone and a huge orange ball of flame lit up the night sky like a Fourth of July fireworks show.

I quickly hit 911 on my cell phone to summons an ambulance and the police as I started running towards the front door. It was still locked but easy to kick open. The stairs were gone, hindering immediate access to the second floor. A neighbor arrived with an ashen look on his face that reflected the shock of the moment. After I told him that people might be trapped upstairs he yelled back that he had a ladder as he ran to retrieve it. It was at that moment that I saw what remained of a once beautiful woman in the debris just inside the doorway. She was completely nude, but over fifty percent of her body was burned black. She must have been on the stairs when the explosion occurred and never knew what happen. She moved slightly and I reached to try and pull her from the rubble, but her burned skin came off in my hands. My stomach rolled as I grabbed my mouth and ran for the door. Vomit spewed forth uncontrollably as I hit the grass on my knees. As I looked up, I could see a man standing by my car watching me. The smile on his face raised my Irish temper a few notches. At that moment, the neighbor returned with the ladder, and we ran inside to see if we could help. There was no time to determine the stranger’s identity. Feeling helpless inside, I returned to the front yard. The stranger was gone.

The EMT arrived quickly, but it was clear there wasn’t any need to hurry. Uniform officers from the Dallas Police Department were on the scene and Detective Lt. Roger Burns arrived to take charge of the carnage. It appeared to be an accidental explosion possibly caused by the lightning. I didn’t notice anything that required a heavy hitting homicide detective such as Burns. I was curious why he was there. My client’s wife was obviously not going anywhere except to the morgue, therefore, there wasn’t any need for me to remain at the scene. I suddenly felt an urge for a tall glass of Jack Daniels poured over ice. Perhaps I wouldn’t wait for the ice.

Burns released me after some minor questioning, including why I was in the neighborhood. I described the stranger I saw on the front lawn. Burns made a note, but seemed to be more concerned about my condition. After some urging for me to go to the hospital for shock and personal observation, I convinced him that I was OK and would be available for further questions at his office. Returning to my BMW I could see debris on the roof and hood from the explosion. Quickly my thoughts turned from dead bodies to anger that my car was damaged.

As I drove back to my office I began to think that perhaps my priorities were somewhat screwed up. Two people who I had been hired to tail were dead, and I didn’t see a thing. Perhaps I should be feeling some responsibility since I was hired to watch Mrs. Blackmon. However, it appeared to be an accident. Surprisingly, I felt no remorse towards the burned bodies suddenly lifeless in the wreckage. They were just dead bodies. All I could do was become more upset about the damage to my car. The thoughts of words long spoken rang in my head. Rick Butler, you are a self centered moron with no empathy. I knew the words fit me perfectly. I was driven by an inner demon that made me focus only on my own selfish desires. I was still a bachelor at forty- eight with the ability to alienate people who came close. My hair was chopped short just as in my military days, but now it was mostly graying on the sides. My glasses had turned into bifocals and were needed for more than reading. Damn, I thought, I so need help! I pressed down on the accelerator…the Jack Daniels was waiting… to hell with the ice.

Chapter Two

It was 9:00 a.m. before I finally woke from a deep sleep that left me disoriented. My head hurt, but it slowly began to clear from the fog which was probably the result of the sleeping pills and bourbon. As the fog began to clear, my first thoughts were that two people I had under surveillance were blown to bits while I helplessly watched. It had been twenty years since witnessing such carnage in the jungles of Vietnam. As a result, my mind built up a self-protecting cocoon that filtered out all the old horror scenes of two Special Forces tours in Southeast Asia. It was there I learned life could turn on a dime, and the distance between life and death is measured in seconds.

I gulped down a strong cup of hot coffee as I picked up the phone to call Robert Murphy, the attorney who hired me to gather evidence on the infidelity of the recently deceased Anne Blackmon. I dialed his private line, and he answered the phone on the first ring. Where the hell are you? He shouted into the phone which felt as if an electric amp resonated inches away from my ear.

Wait a minute! I yelled back. I called to give you an update on last night’s events. My head is still throbbing from a bad night, and I am in no mood for your screaming. Now if you will settle down I will give you a briefing on what happened last night.

Sorry Rick, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that all hell has broken loose around here. How quickly can you get downtown to my office? Things are happening fast and we need to talk before I face the police and Mr. Blackmon.

Fortunately traffic was light and I made it to Murphy’s office in twenty-five minutes. As I entered the main reception area I met Murphy’s administrative assistant. It appears that the world exploded last night, and the police are dragging this law firm into the middle of it, said Sandy Stein. You had better tighten up your belt before going in to the meeting with the senior partners.

Sandy was not only a staff member at Stein, Stein, and Murphy, Attorneys at Law, but she was also married to the senior partner, Jonathan Stein. Sandy was a welcome sight for any customer coming into the firm’s reception area. She was an immense flirt with extra long legs, and surgery enhanced upper torso accentuated by miniskirts and low cut v-neck blouses, both sized for a smaller woman. I was suspicious that she was active outside the marriage vows herself. However, I had noticed that Jonathan Stein, who was twenty-five years her senior, didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps they had an unusual arrangement, or maybe belonged to one of those swingers clubs.

Stein, Stein and, Murphy was an extraordinarily successful law firm with first-class offices that reflected their successful practice. The offices overlooked the City Park and lake with a view from the twenty-first floor. The conference room adjacent to Murphy’s office was finished with a long table of cherry wood and matching chairs. A bar, thoroughly stocked for any occasion, was at one end of the room. The ceiling was raised with an inlay design that appeared to be a copy of the Sistine Chapel. I don’t know much about art, but I was quite certain that the paintings on the wall, and bronze sculpture on the side table, were not from Wal-Mart. I was always impressed, and each visit reminded me that I probably wasn’t charging them enough for my investigative work.

Jonathan Stein was screaming at Murphy when I walked into the conference room. Upon entering, the object of their wrath swung immediately to me. What the hell happened last night? Murphy yelled at me, obviously grateful to switch the focus of attention away from him.

Having been warned by Sandy Stein about the mood in the meeting, I had psychologically prepared myself to remain calm and in control. I ignored the loud, demanding lawyer action of Murphy while suppressing my normally quick Irish retort. Then calmly, I walked over to the end of the table where a pot of coffee was setting. Without saying a word, I retrieved a cup and saucer which appeared to be made of fine china. Nothing but the best for Stein, Stein, and Murphy I thought, as I slowly filled the cup. May I pour you gentlemen a cup of coffee? It appears you need some caffeine to calm your nerves. I looked directly at Jonathan Stein and could see the blood vessels bulge in the side of his neck. His face was puffed and it appeared that a relief valve was going to be required to prevent his head from exploding.

Mark Stein, Jonathan’s brother and the managing partner in the firm, spoke in a remarkably calming voice which was like salve to an open wound. I had never seen Mark raise his voice or become upset over anything. He was a true gentleman and had a very calming demeanor with the personality of someone who had never met a stranger. Everyone immediately liked Mark. He was two years older than Jonathan, and appeared to have come from a different family entirely. His hair was grey, and he had deep-set eyes of the bluest hue, almost aqua, that set a perfect blend to his clean shaven face. I always pictured him with a Panama hat and white suit walking out to greet the working people on a sugar cane plantation. He was genteel in every way.

Rick, sit down and relax with your coffee. I apologize for my brother and Mr. Murphy. Please bring us up to speed on what happen last night. As you can guess, the police are all over us about our involvement, said Mark.

It was tempting to follower Mark’s suggestion and sit back in one of the swivel chairs sipping a cup of coffee. However, I was still a bit steamed at the way Murphy and Jonathan Stein lit into me as I entered the conference room. Choosing to remain standing, I walked around the table to the window. I stood there silently sipping my coffee for a moment, taking in the beautiful view through the window. Slowly, I turned to face the men still sitting at the table as Sandy Stein came in with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of sliced fruit. I had regained control of the meeting as Stein and Murphy sat in total silence.

I was on the job monitoring Mrs. Anne Blackmon. I followed her to a two-story house on West Skewlee Street. She parked in the driveway and entered through the front door. She made no attempt to hide or cover up the fact that she was meeting someone there. In fact, he met her at the front door, and they embraced in clear view. I have pictures and a video. It was dark but the distinctive camera lens had no problem.

I hesitated for a moment as I walked back towards the conference room table where the lawyers were still seated. Moving slowly and deliberately, I looked directly at Sandy Stein who was still in the room. Mark detected my hesitation and interrupted the silence by asking Sandy to please see that we were not disturbed…and to cancel his early morning appointments. As she left the room, I continued to brief the law partners.

Lights were on in the house, and the window blinds were open. It didn’t appear to be a scene like the one I was expecting with clandestine lovers meeting under cover of darkness. However, that changed very quickly. After a few minutes of embracing Mrs. Blackmon headed up the stairs, and her lover proceeded to close the blinds before turning off the downstairs lights. Then, lights appeared in the upstairs bedroom. I could see Mrs. Blackmon removing her blouse before a man entered the bedroom and closed the blinds. I am afraid that the rest was strictly up to my imagination.

Jonathan Stein began moving and twisting in his seat. I could tell he was still irritated, and my deliberate, slow presentation was not to his liking. However, I was enjoying the control and his anxiety. Turning my back towards Jonathan, I again walked towards the window, as I continued talking.

I observed the house and the illuminated bedroom window for approximately one hour and fifty minutes. Nothing suspicious happened, other than it was clear that we had plenty of documented evidence of an extra-marital affair on the part of Mrs. Blackmon. It would be a slam dunk case and an easy victory for Murphy’s client in his divorce suit. Suddenly, there was an explosion upstairs. I rushed into the house and found Mrs. Blackmon in the rubble of the stairs on the first floor. She was apparently dead from the explosion and fire. I gave a statement to the police and went home. It appeared to be an accident, probably triggered by lightning and a gas leak, perhaps from an upstairs water heater unit. I honestly have no idea since I left before the insurance company Fire Protection Engineers and Fire Marshall’s Inspector arrived.

Walking back towards the table, I stood in front of Jonathan Stein in an intimidating position. I then addressed him directly. What seems to be the big deal? I don’t understand… why all the yelling and screaming?

Jonathan said, Rick, both Anne Blackmon and her lover were shot execution style in the house. They were already dead before the explosion. A neighbor witnessed you in front of the house just prior to the explosion. He saw you again inside the house and noticed that you had a gun. The police have your statement at the scene, and know you were there. They also have another witness who saw you following Mrs. Blackmon as she left her office last evening. To make matters worse, they know you are working for our firm, and in fact, were monitoring Mrs. Blackmon under our direction. The publicity alone will cost us millions, and you may be headed for jail. We are in deep feces, to put it mildly. Jonathan Stein’s voice took on a much more conciliatory tone as he addressed me. The screaming had stopped as the reality of the situation began to settle in.

Chapter Three

Samuel Blackmon let everyone know that he was a self made man. He rose up from poverty, and as a young boy shined shoes for businessmen on the streets of Dallas. He developed an attitude that only street urchins can exhibit, and exerted his presence any time he entered a room. Sam was a short man, about 5’7", and somewhat overweight. He had jet black curly hair that was cut a little long, but not too long to accommodate a Fedora hat which he always wore in public. Sam was 62 years old, but there was not a sign of grey in his hair. His size and lack of formal education left him with a complex overcome by aggression. Sam Blackmon was the man in charge, and if that wasn’t OK with you then he could make you feel the power that took him to the top. Mr. Blackmon had amassed a fortune, and used it to buy the political influence that kept everyone distanced from his businesses. The subject of his business was a highly questionable matter, and there was no doubt in the minds of authorities that his business activity was illicit. However, the press and police never approached Blackmon. Everyone in authority, including the Mayor, was suspected to be on his payroll.

Blackmon’s business appeared to be oil and gas importing and oil field drilling equipment. He did own a small fleet of oil tankers. However, it was all a facade. It was suspected that he actually headed up the Southwest Operations for the Alioto Family out of New York but reported directly to the underboss of the Salvo family who were responsible for West Coast Operations. Blackmon controlled gambling, prostitution, and drugs in the southern border states. The oil tankers were actually used for drug smuggling. He was unusual in his achievements having risen to such a high level in a Mafia family without being Sicilian. Sam was, in fact, Jewish by birth, but had not been in a Synagogue since he was thirteen years old and pined after local Jewish Businessmen in downtown Dallas. His Jewish background was an excellent cover for the Alioto family who appeared to have no presence in Dallas.

Stein, Stein, and Murphy had handled all of Blackmon’s legal work for years in the Southwest region. The relationship was hugely profitable for the law firm, and they protected Blackmon’s activities even if they bordered on the illegal. It was the type of thing that could get the firm in serious trouble with the Texas Bar and U.S. Attorney, but there was enough money flowing to keep the appropriate palms greased. There was never a hint of scandal regarding the firm, and even I didn’t know about the connection to Blackmon until I recently met him in the firm’s office. It was then that I discovered it was his wife I would be tailing.

The legal boys apparently wanted to discuss the situation privately with their client, and I was excused. I left the meeting with the firm’s partners and walked out onto the street. The rain had stopped, and there was a fresh, clean scent of Jasmine in the spring air. The air was cool due to a weather front that swept last night’s rain into the city. My mind was becoming clearer after the coffee, and the affects of the sleeping pills were wearing off. Suddenly the grimness of the situation flooded my psyche, and the word Patsy flashed in my head like a neon sign.

I drove the BMW slowly back to the place where Mrs. Blackmon and her lover were killed the night before. What I thought was an accident, I now knew was murder. The couple had been executed, and the explosion that destroyed their bodies was a message. I just didn’t know what the message meant. I knew, however, that whoever killed the couple wanted to do more than end their life. The bodies had to reflect an anger that only mutilation would satisfy.

As I pulled up in front of the house I could see it was still smoldering from the fire, and the air was heavy with the smell of burning wood that had been doused with water. My nostrils burned as I walked across the street toward the house. I spotted Detective Lt. Roger Burns standing with a young lady on the sidewalk. For a moment she turned her face toward me, and I could see her clearly. She was a trim thirty-year-old in a tight mini-skirt and a short leather jacket. Her auburn hair was straight, curving with the contours of her face down below her chin. The back of her hair was cut shorter than the sides and had a slight taper. As I came closer, I could see that she had been crying.

Morning, I spoke as I approached Lt. Burns and the