Deadly Corruption, Sarah Spillman Police Procedurals: Book 7

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

Brandon Long was a man accustomed to getting his way, which was why he swore under his breath as he got into his Mercedes GLS SUV. The meeting had not gone well. The man he’d met was worried, more worried than he needed to be. He hadn’t trusted me, Long thought. That wasn’t good. Maybe I’d asked too many questions, he thought. The trust issue complicated matters.

Long drummed the steering wheel as he stared out the windshield, the Denver high-rises towering to the west. It was almost one in the morning, but lights were on in several of the buildings. Long wondered if anyone was actually in the office space. He normally wasn’t even in this part of town, certainly not at this time of night. He was only here because he had to meet that man, a special, clandestine meeting. One of those things you didn’t do where others might see you, not close to where you lived, because you wanted no one to know what you were doing. His wife certainly didn’t know he was here. She thought he was at a monthly business association meeting. And, in fact, he had been at that meeting, but he’d gotten the text and had ducked out during the middle of the meeting. None of his business associates had seen him outside the conference room. The only possible problem was he’d gotten on the phone and raised his voice. He figured the tired caterer who’d overheard wouldn’t say anything. She hadn’t paid any attention to him, and when he left, he casually told her to pretend she hadn’t seen him. She’d smiled and shrugged as if she didn’t care. Long had hurried in the dusk to his car. He’d driven the busy interstate to downtown, and nobody on the highway would’ve known who he was or where he was going. He’d met the man at a bar he’d never heard of, but that’s where the man had wanted to meet. Long was sure no one there would’ve known who either one of them was. They’d stayed until the bar closed, then moved on.

Once they’d wrapped up the meeting, Long had walked to his car, which he’d parked down the block. He wasn’t worried about the association meeting. They always went until after nine, and his wife knew that he frequently went for drinks with some friends after that. She would have no reason to check where he was, and if she did, he’d figure out his excuses at that time.

He swore again, started the car, and pulled into the street. He reached the corner and glanced in the rearview mirror. Was a car back there? He quickly turned onto Twenty-second Street, then swore again. The road ahead was blocked, the asphalt dug up, an excavator parked behind orange-and-white barriers. Long checked the mirror again. A car was there. He felt his gut tighten as he slowed and turned into an alley. It was dark, the beams from his headlights exposing a blue dumpster up ahead. He hit the brakes as a moving truck materialized in the darkness beyond the dumpster.

“What the –”

Long stopped and shook his head in disgust. He thought he saw someone emerge from a building. Then the figure ducked into the shadows.

“What’s going on?” he said to no one.

He looked behind him again. The vehicle was still there. He thought about the man he’d met, and about the man’s apparent distrust. Brandon wondered now if he was being set up. He almost hit the horn, then decided against it. The truck’s headlights suddenly came on, and Long blinked and raised a hand to shield his eyes. Then he saw the truck driver staring directly at him. He was sure it was a man, and there was something about his eyes and leery expression that sent chills down Long’s spine. Long gave a friendly little wave but received no reply. Uneasiness swept over him. He was about to put the Mercedes in reverse when someone stepped out of the shadows by the dumpster. It caught Long by surprise, and he jumped. The figure stepped up to the Mercedes and motioned for Long to roll down his window. Long dropped his hand and hit the button and the window slid partway down.

“Yes?” Long noticed a warble in his voice, and he didn’t like it. But he was well aware of the fear he felt.

The man looked to the street, then to Brandon. “Why are you coming down the alley?” The man’s voice was deep and menacing.

Long jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “They had the street closed off and I was looking for a shortcut.”

“What did you see?”

Long wasn’t sure what the question meant. Then he looked out the windshield and saw the truck driver, still glaring at him. Long turned back to the man by his window.

“What are you guys doing?” Long asked. “It’s a little late to be moving, isn’t it?”

The man stared at him, then pointed something at him. Long suddenly knew what real fear was, the kind that left you paralyzed.

“No, I didn’t see anything!” Long said.

Long started to raise his hand again when the bullet caught him on the side of the face. He felt incredible pain as he slumped over. His last thought was what his wife would think about his being down here.

Then blackness.

CHAPTER TWO

Brandon Long was forty-six years old when he died. He left behind a wife, Emily, and two pre-teen boys, Logan and Julian. Long owned a restaurant supply company that distributed restaurant equipment, supplies, and liquor not only in Colorado, but surrounding states as well. Business had been good, and Long had been able to afford a nice two-story home in Highlands Ranch, a Mercedes for himself and a BMW for Emily, private school for his kids, and a country club membership. Not bad for a man under fifty. But then all of that had been snuffed out.

I looked at a picture of Brandon. He had short brown hair and brown eyes, a square jaw, his receding hairline the only indication of his age. I sat back, pushed away the folder of notes the crime-scene techs had amassed for me, and stretched. Then I looked across my desk at my partner, Ernie Moore.

“What else have you found out about Brandon Long?” I asked.

It was early on a Tuesday morning, and we had just returned to the station at Thirteenth and Cherokee. We had been at the crime scene since shortly after six this morning, when Long’s body had been discovered by a man who had been out for an early walk. Rob McMahan had spotted a black Mercedes parked on an empty street. Because of the hour, he was surprised to see a car parked there, so he went to investigate. He was even more surprised when he saw Long slumped over on the passenger seat.

My other partner, Roland “Spats” Youngfield, was still at the scene. Ernie and I had spent some time there, then had gone to deliver the news to his wife, who had been so distraught that we hadn’t been able to complete an interview. We were going to circle back with her later in the morning. But first, we’d returned to the station to find out everything we could about Brandon Long.

“So far,” Ernie said in a deep voice, “there’s not much. Long had a DUI six years ago, and it looks like he completed his classes and paid his fines. No other criminal record.”

I nodded and pointed at the folder. “From what I can tell, his finances appear to be in order, and he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. He went to Baylor, got an undergrad degree in business administration, then an MBA at the University of Colorado.” I used my thumb and forefinger to pinch my nose near the corners of my eyes as I felt a doozy of a headache coming on. “So why was Long gunned down in the middle of the night in downtown Denver?”

Ernie gulped some coffee. “That’s the question of the day.” He chewed on a pencil, a poor substitute for the cigar stubs that he usually preferred to chew on.

Before I could say more, Commander Rizzo entered the room. He filled out his uniform well, and for the first time, I noticed a touch of gray in his dark hair. He looked at me, his brow furrowed, then strode over to my desk and leaned against it, where he could talk to both Ernie and me. I raised eyebrows at him quizzically.

“What’s going on?”

“What do you know about Josh Rogen?” Rizzo asked.

Rizzo’s a no-nonsense man, gets to the point, and doesn’t waste anyone’s time. He’s also compassionate, and I’d seen that side of him first-hand after I’d been shot a couple of months ago. Rizzo had been extremely concerned not only about me and my recovery, but he’d also worried about my family and my fiancé, Harry Sousen.

I’d taken a bullet near the shoulder. It had nicked my jugular vein, traveled through muscle, then shattered my collarbone. I’d had surgery to repair the damage, and after being released from the hospital, I’d endured a lot of physical therapy. I was glad it had been my left shoulder, and I could still use my right arm to shoot my gun, if needed. On the surface, I was okay, just some aches and pain in the shoulder now and then. Emotionally, it had been tougher, on both Harry and me. That shot could easily have killed me, and that was not an easy thing for either of us to come to terms with. I’d been with Harry for over ten years, and I’d finally gotten over some serious commitment fears that I’d had. Before I’d been shot, we’d recently become engaged. We were planning a small wedding and reception in our back yard in a few weeks, with just his family and mine, and some close friends. We had a lot to do to get ready for that. The stress level was higher than usual.

Ernie tipped his head. “Isn’t Rogen that detective from robbery?”

Rizzo nodded. “He’s been with DPD for several years, started off on patrol, then he moved into the robbery division. He wants to move over to homicide. I’m curious what you two think about him.”

I hesitated and glanced at Ernie, who gave me a questioning look. I thought for a moment. “I’ve seen Josh around. He seems like a nice enough guy. Why does he want to transfer to homicide?”

“I don’t know. Rogen’s commanding officer asked me to take a chance on Rogen.” Rizzo turned his palms up. “He says Rogen wants a change of pace. And I don’t blame him.” He ran a hand over his face. “In the past year or so, there’ve been a series of unsolved burglaries at some local businesses. I’m not talking just a little money out of a cash register, either. These guys are getting into some of the mom-and-pop stores, taking whatever cash they can and then whatever pricey merchandise they can easily fence. I’m sure it’s enough to net them a tidy little sum.” He frowned. “These small businesses have thin margins as it is, what with having to compete with the big box stores. The last thing they need is to deal with burglaries, have their insurance go up, have to replace the lost merchandise. It cuts into their profits big time. Lately there’s been pressure to solve these.”

“Ah,” I said because I didn’t know what else to say.

Rizzo looked at Ernie. “What about you? What do you know about Rogen?”

Ernie picked up his cup but didn’t drink. “I don’t know much about him.” Rizzo looked at him askance, and Ernie sighed. “Okay, I’ve heard he’s a bit brash, thinks he knows everything.” He set the cup down and held up a hand. “Keep in mind, though, that’s just hearsay. The kid could be good, and sometimes a little ego can take you a long way. As long as he doesn’t let it interfere with his good judgment.”

“Any reason why he wouldn’t be good for the homicide division?” Rizzo pressed us.

I didn’t have anything tangible to give Rizzo. My negative impression of Rogen was a gut feeling I had, and something I intended to keep to myself, at least for the moment. I shook my head. “Do we have room for him?” I asked, wondering if Rizzo was looking to shake up the department.

Rizzo seemed to know what I was getting at and he smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said as he wagged a finger between Ernie and me. “I’m not going to split you guys up. You’re doing a great job. Rogen will come on board on a training basis. Detective Holmes will probably be retiring in a year or two, so Rogen will be with him for now.”

I knew Kent Holmes, but not well. He was in his late fifties, and he’d been in homicide for several years, some at my district, but some with District Three on South University. He was a few inches taller than my five-nine, with the wiry build of a runner, a full head of hair that was just turning gray, and a thin face. What always stuck with me, though, were his eyes. One time a few years back when I was working at my desk, I heard him on the phone. Whatever had been going on had made him exceedingly angry, and he’d gotten up from his desk across the room from mine and headed for the door. I had made the mistake of joking with him, and his dark eyes burned with a fierceness I had rarely ever seen. He’d left the room without another word, and he and I had never spoken about the incident. I’d asked Ernie about him later, and Ernie said Kent was generally very even-keel, but Ernie had also said never to cross him. He warned me that if I did, I’d regret it. Other than that, I knew Kent had had a string of homicides that he’d cleared, and that people in the department respected his investigative skills. I knew very little about his personal life, not even whether he was married or had kids.

“You’ll see Rogen around.” Rizzo waved a hand to encompass the detectives’ room. “So if you get a chance, talk to him to see what you think. Nothing’s final yet. And if you can, get him involved in your investigation, so you can see how he handles things. Speaking of the investigation, what’s going on with this latest homicide?”

I picked up a pencil and fiddled with it. Then I realized I was acting like Ernie with his pencil, and I put it down. “Brandon Long, a local businessman who lives in Highlands Ranch, was murdered sometime overnight.” I gave him a quick summary of Long’s background.

“What was Long doing in our jurisdiction?” Rizzo asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Ernie replied. He pointed his pencil at me slyly. He’d caught my fidgeting and his lips twitched into a small smile.

“Brandon was shot in the head,” I went on. “He also had a defensive wound on his left hand, as if he’d held up his hand before he was shot. That likely rules out suicide. The car window was rolled partway down, and based on the trajectory – the bullet entered his left cheek – it certainly looks as if someone stood at the window and shot him. There was no stippling around the entry wound, so the killer was at a distance when he shot Long, but how far away, we don’t know. The body was slumped to the side.”

“Was he shot somewhere else and his body moved?” Rizzo asked.

I held up my hands. “It’s possible. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy report to know for sure.” I went on. “We recovered a 9-millimeter bullet in the seat of his Mercedes. Other than that, the car, unfortunately, was clean. We did get some prints, but I think they’ll only be Long’s. Spats is still down at the crime scene, and he’s going to see what video surveillance he can dig up. So far, no witnesses to the shooting, nobody around any of the nearby buildings.”

“This was where?” Rizzo asked.

“His car was parked on Twenty-fifth Street,” Ernie replied.

“Downtown was active last night,” Rizzo said. “There was a hit-and-run on Colfax, and a bicycle shop was robbed on Welton, I think about four or five blocks from where your victim was.”

“How many bikes were stolen?” I asked.

“Not very many,” Rizzo said.

Ernie suppressed a grin. “Probably some thieves who stole what they could ride away on.”

I nodded, then turned back to our investigation. “We recovered Brandon’s wallet with fifty dollars and credit cards in it, so theft doesn’t appear to be a motive in our case. The car keys were still in the ignition, although the car wasn’t running. We have no idea why Brandon was there. I sent officers to Mountain Range Restaurant Supply first thing this morning to let them know about Long. We’ll interview all his employees soon. And we have officers canvassing the neighborhood where Long was found to see if anyone heard or saw anything.”

“We have to talk to the wife again,” Ernie said. He described Emily Long’s distraught state when we’d seen her earlier that morning. “We couldn’t get anything out of her.” He pointed at me. “We came back here to get more information on the Longs, then we’ll try the wife again.”

I picked up the narrative. “Long’s parents and sister live in Texas. We’re trying to get hold of them. Emily Long has a brother, Gerald, who lives in town. We haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but if the wife doesn’t know why Brandon was downtown, maybe he will. Jamison wasn’t sure if he could get to the autopsy today,” I said, referring to Jack Jamison, Denver’s head medical examiner, “but when he does, that might tell us more about Brandon Long’s death.”

Ernie snorted. “It’s pretty clear the gunshot to the head killed him.”

I ignored that. I was used to Ernie’s occasional acerbity, a way he dealt with the job stress. But, like Rizzo, Ernie also had a compassionate side. “We recovered Long’s cell phone from the crime scene,” I continued, “and Spats is also working on the warrants we’ll need to search Long’s office, and to confiscate and search his electronics, both personal and work-related. Long’s wife is most likely on his cell plan, and we’ll get a separate warrant for her phone recs as well, just to be safe.”

Rizzo nodded thoughtfully, then stood straight. “Keep at it.” Then he smiled. “And I’ll let you know the decision about Rogen when I know.”

“Sure thing, Commander,” Ernie said and waved as Rizzo walked into his office. Ernie craned his neck to make sure Rizzo was busy, then turned to me. “Tell me the truth. What do you think of Rogen?”

I leaned my elbows on my desk and chose my words carefully. “I’ve only crossed paths with him once, and he seemed like he didn’t want to deal with a woman. But I could be mistaken, and I’m willing to give the guy a chance.” I looked up Josh’s contact information and entered his cell phone number into my phone.

Ernie mulled that over. “No one should judge you. You know your stuff.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. I leaned back and rubbed my left shoulder, which was beginning to ache more than I could ignore. Ernie noticed. “Man, I’m getting a headache,” I said quickly to cover for the shoulder ache. Truth was, my head ached, too.

“Here.” He threw me a bottle of ibuprofen and didn’t question my excuse. I took a couple and washed them down with cold coffee. “Did you find out any more about Brandon’s wife?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Not a whole lot. She used to work at an elementary school in Littleton, but it looks like she hasn’t been there in years. She went to Baylor, just like Brandon.”

“Good school,” Ernie said appreciatively. “Maybe she and Brandon met there.”

“Could be.” I pointed to my laptop. “That’s what I got from LinkedIn. She has a Facebook page, but she doesn’t post on it much.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “No posts with her kids?”

I shook my head. “The last one was two years ago.”

“A woman who doesn’t want to brag about her kids?”

“Maybe she’s protecting her privacy. Or theirs.”

“Could be.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Did you get a transcript from the 911 call?”

“Let me check.” He typed on his laptop. “Yeah, an email just came in. The operator took the call from McMahan at 5:48. Her name is Alonzo.” He squinted at the screen, cleared his throat, and started reading.

 

Alonzo: Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

McMahan: Yeah, there’s a guy in a car here, I think he’s dead.

Alonzo: What is your name, sir?

McMahan: Rob McMahan.

Alonzo: And where are you?

McMahan: On Twenty-fifth, near the Agape Christian Church.

Alonzo: That’s downtown?

McMahan: East of downtown, near the Welton light-rail station. Are you going to send someone over here? I think the guy’s dead. I knocked on the window and he didn’t move.

Alonzo: The police and the paramedics have been dispatched.

McMahan: Okay, good.

Alonzo: Are you in any danger?

McMahan: I don’t think so. There’s nobody around.

Alonzo: Okay, if you would just wait for the police.

McMahan: I’m not going anywhere.

 

Ernie looked up. “The rest of it’s boilerplate, just the operator telling him to stay there, not to touch anything. Once the squad cars arrived, he disconnected the call.”

I steepled my hands. “What happened after the responding officers arrived?” Ernie had been the first on-scene.

He nodded. “McMahan gave a statement to them, and they swabbed his hands for gunshot residue. The test was negative, by the way. Then McMahan insisted he had to get home so he could get ready for work.”

“We should circle back with him.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I’ll give McMahan a call.” I mulled over what we knew so far, which wasn’t much. “You think he’s on the level?”

“Did he shoot Long and then call us?” He considered that. “That’s possible. That part of town doesn’t have a lot of activity that early in the morning, so he could’ve shot Long and no one would’ve known. Unless there are surveillance cameras that caught him in the act. If he did it.”

“We need to check McMahan thoroughly.”

“I’ll call Spats, have him get one of the detectives to follow up on McMahan, check his whereabouts.”

While he did that, I looked at some notes I’d jotted down on a notepad. When Ernie hung up, I said, “The responding officers didn’t see anyone around, other than McMahan, correct?”

He nodded. “Spats is wrapping up with the CSI team, so we’ll have to wait to see if they uncovered any clues. But something tells me we shouldn’t hold our breath.”

“You are full of sarcasm today.”

He laughed. “I didn’t get my beauty rest.”

I found the number for Rob McMahan and called. It went to voice mail, so I left a message asking him to return my call. Then I pushed back from my desk. “Well, I guess it’s time to tackle Mrs. Long.” I glanced at him. “Why don’t you come with me. Given her emotional state when she first heard about her husband, this one could get dicey.”

Ernie gulped the last of his coffee and stood up. “Let’s go.”

 

Excellent police procedural. Not only is the writing thoughtful and methodical, but the main characters are well developed. You understand why Sarah, Ernie and Spats not only work well together, but are fast friends as well. We got to know more of their personal issues in this book. I look forward to continuing this series – always good to see a smart woman represented as a real person. ~Reader review