Dead Reckoning (12 page)

She opened the door to find him sitting behind his desk. He looked up when she entered. Simultaneously his right shoulder moved slightly, and Kate knew he’d put his hand on the gun he had mounted on the underside of his desk. She’d asked him about it once, and in his quiet way he’d told her he’d mounted it there just in case some shady character came calling in the middle of the night. Kate knew all about shady characters, and she didn’t begrudge him the gun. She had a legal concealed handgun license herself. But she knew that even in South Dallas, an economically depressed area rife with gangs and crime, nobody fucked with Jack Gamble.

“Kate. What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ up at this hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, crossing to his desk.

“Well, this ain’t no place for no prosecutor. ’Specially after dark.”

He’d been saying the same thing every week for the last year. Kate always answered the same way. They were both creatures of habits. Some of them good. Some not so good. But the one thing they both knew was that when she walked into Jack Gamble’s office, she was not a Dallas County assistant district attorney. She was a woman on a mission and the only reason she was there was because he could help her reach her goal.

Smiling, she stopped adjacent his desk. “I just can’t seem to get through the week without seeing you.”

A deep chuckle rumbled up from his barrel chest. “And you got a weakness for ugly stray dogs, too.” A man of impeccable Southern manners, he rolled his wheelchair out from behind the desk and motioned to one of two wooden rail-back chairs in front of his desk. “Sit down.”

Kate settled into the chair and contemplated the man across from her. In his late forties, he was the size of a woolly mammoth and as black as the west Texas night. But while he might appear to be overweight at first glance, Kate knew the bulk in his upper body was mostly muscle. He was not a handsome man. Once a Dallas narcotics officer, he’d been shot four times during a sting. The first shot had severed his spinal cord just below his waist. The second had hit him in the chest. The third in the stomach. The fourth in the face. The doctors had done what they could, but they hadn’t been able to put his face back together the way it had been before the shooting. His forehead was slightly concave on one side. His right eye was higher than his left and slightly sunken. A scar as deep as a man’s finger had dug a groove through his right cheekbone.

But his was an interesting face nonetheless. A strong face that spoke of character and intelligence and the kind of courage that was rare and ran deep. He’d come highly recommended by a former ADA who’d used him on a personal matter she’d wanted kept discreet. Within the first five minutes of the initial interview, Kate had known he was the man for the job.

Kate had done her homework before hiring him. She knew he was married with at least seven grown children from two different women, one of whom he’d been married to for the last twelve years. She knew he’d been a good cop with three commendations. She knew he’d been a private detective since leaving the department some six years earlier and that his endeavor into the private sector had been successful and financially rewarding. Above all else, Kate knew Jack Gamble was discreet. That had been the deciding factor for choosing him.

“You must be a mind reader,” he said after a moment.

“Why do you say that?”

“I was going to call you in the morning.”

Kate sat up straighter. “Did you find something?”

“I been digging around for you going on a year now. ’Bout time I did, don’t you think?” Her pulse quickened when he pulled out a tattered brown folder and opened it. “I got a name.”

Her heart went into a free fall, like a plane with a stalled engine. She stared at him, and suddenly it was as if she was seeing him at the end of a long tunnel. A name. She couldn’t believe it. After eleven unbearable years she would finally have a name.

“Danny Lee Perkins.” He passed her the folder.

Kate’s hand was shaking when she reached for it. It seemed as if she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life. She took the folder, opened it, found herself staring at a five-by-seven photograph of a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a pocked complexion.

She ran her tongue over the bridge where her broken front tooth had been repaired. The old hurt mingled with a fresh wave of hatred. She stared at the photograph, aware that her mouth had gone dry. Her heart was pounding. Eleven years gone. He would be older. Heavier. But she knew he would be the same in one aspect. . . .

Her eyes sought his right cheek, and she had to make a conscious effort to choke back the sound that tried to squeeze from her throat. The birthmark was one of the few details she remembered about his face. Eleven years ago, from her hospital bed, she had described it to the police as a “red mark on his cheek.” Later, when she could bear to think of it, when she could force herself to recall his face, she’d realized the man who’d attacked her had had either a port-wine stain or cherry hemangioma birthmark.

This man had the mark.

Slowly she raised her eyes to Jack Gamble. The big man was leaning back in his wheelchair, watching her with eyes that saw more than she wanted him to.

Kate’s hand was steady when she set the folder on the desk. “It’s him.”

“I thought so.”

“What do you have on him?”

“Eleven years ago he moved from Houston to Louisville, Kentucky, to live with his aunt. Worked at an auto body shop for the next two years. Kept his nose relatively clean. Then he moved to Knoxville, Tennessee.” He flipped the page. “He got into a fight at a bar and did nine months on an assault charge. Two years ago he got busted with a syringe and some crystal meth. Did four months. Kept his nose clean while he was on probation.” Scratching his temple, he scanned the file. “Moved back to Texas seven years ago. Lived in Beaumont. Houston. Bay City.” He looked up at Kate. “He moved to Ft. Worth last year. That’s where I lost track of him.”

Kate could feel herself coming apart inside. Staring across the span of desk at a man she’d known for the last year—a man who’d proven himself far too astute—she wondered if he could see the turmoil inside her. The statute of limitations for sexual assault in the state of Texas was seven years. There was an exception for DNA evidence, but eleven years ago that exception hadn’t been in place. Which meant the man who’d hurt her so brutally, the man who’d ruined her sister’s life, would never be forced to pay for what he did.

Kate was going to make sure he did.

“What about the other man?” she asked, referring to the man who’d nearly killed her sister.

“I have a couple of names. Eddie Calhoun. Ricky Steiner. Ronny Stein. Rick Steinle. He’s used a lot of aliases over the years. I’m following up on a couple of leads. Last I heard, he was in federal prison in Terre Haute, Indiana, on a murder one charge. I’m going to make some more inquiries when the offices open in a few hours.”

Kate thought prison was too good for the man who’d beaten her sister so brutally she’d suffered irreparable brain damage. Kate wanted him in hell where he belonged. She wanted to be the one to put him there. “How much more time do you need?”

He rolled a shoulder. “Hard to tell at this point. The man sitting pretty in Club Fed might not be our man.”

“If it’s not him, I want you to keep looking.” Digging into her bag, Kate removed a plain white envelope. “There’s another five thousand in there.”

“Kate . . .”

“I want you to find them, Jack. Both of them.” She glanced at the folder on the desk, picked it up. “His last known address in here?” She gave him a pointed look. “I need his last known address.”

“I’ll have it for you in a couple of days.” He gazed levelly at her. “Leave the looking to me, Kate. You hear?”

For the first time since she’d known him, Kate got the impression he hadn’t given her everything he had. Maybe because Jack was a good man and had a pretty good idea what she was going to do with the information. But she didn’t need a good man. She didn’t even need a friend. She needed a PI with a don’t-ask-don’t-tell philosophy.

She’d made the mistake of letting him see too much over the last year. As unlikely as their friendship seemed, she knew he cared for her. To be perfectly honest, she cared for him, too. But she wouldn’t let that deter her from her goal.

He was looking at her as if he thought she might do something rash. But Kate Megason never did anything rash. Sooner or later she would get those two men. Even if it took another year, she would see to it that Danny Lee Perkins and his son-of-a-bitch sidekick paid for what they did.

Rising, she dug into her bag for her keys.

“I’ll see you out,” Jack said.

He always asked, and Kate’s answer was invariably the same. “I can handle it, Jack.” Smiling, she patted her Chanel bag where she kept her .22 mini-magnum revolver. “Let me know when you get an address on Danny Lee Perkins.”

“Will do.”

She started toward the door. “Keep me posted on the other guy.”

“I’ll do it.”

Kate walked through the door without looking back.

EIGHT

THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 9:31 A.M.

“Why don’t we have video?”

Kate looked across her desk at David Perrine, who sat in one of two visitor chairs, nursing a double cappuccino. They were in Kate’s office because the conference room was being used by another attorney who evidently had more clout than she did.

“Detective Bates said the police interview room camera wasn’t working. We’re going to have to make do with audio,” David said.

She looked at the empty chair next to him and frowned. As usual, Frank was late. Nine-thirty and he hadn’t even bothered to show. What was his problem? More importantly, what was she going to do about it?

“So did Matrone survive your meeting with him yesterday?” David asked.

“Mike wants him on the case,” was all she said.

David smiled. “But if it were up to you, he’d be toast.”

“Burned to a crisp.” Leaning forward, she popped the cassette into the tape recorder on her desk. “We can—”

The door to her office swung open. Kate looked up to see Frank Matrone stride in, looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

“We’re pleased you decided to grace us with your presence,” she said.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I hope your job as investigator here at the district attorney’s office isn’t interfering with your sleep.”

He grimaced, looking appropriately contrite. “It’s not.”

David chuckled. “Oh, brother.”

Frowning, Frank pulled out the second visitor chair and sat down. “Did I miss anything?”

“You mean besides points?” David stuck out his hand. “You’re not chalking up any, buddy.”

“Never do.” Frank shook the other man’s hand.

He was wearing the same black leather jacket. His hair was still damp from a recent shower. He’d left a tiny piece of tissue paper on a razor cut on the point of his chin. Even though his aftershave was subtle, Kate could smell it from where she sat. Some woodsy, outdoor scent that made her think of pine trees and fresh air. He was wearing black slacks and a white shirt with a red silk tie. Better tie today. He looked nice. Except for the cowboy boots . . .

She looked away before her mind could take the thought any further. “If you two are finished bonding, I’d like to get started.” Glaring at Matrone, she added, “What you are about to hear is the initial interview between Detective Bates and Bruton Ellis. I’ve asked for a transcript, too, but as usual things are backed up over at the PD, so it’s going to take a few days.”

“Ah . . . they’re probably not that backed up,” Frank said.

Kate shot him a withering stare. “Don’t tell me. This is part of their ‘Let’s put Megabitch through the hoop’ thing.”

“Megabitch?”
David echoed, looking startled. “They call you that?”

“Never mind,” Kate snapped, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it.

“I’ll make a few calls when we’re finished here,” Frank said. “I can probably have it over here by this afternoon.”

As much as Kate didn’t want to, she had to admit he was probably going to be an asset to the team if only to help her cut through all the red tape between the DA’s office and the PD.

She hit the Play button on the recorder. The speaker in the center of the table hissed for a moment. Kate turned up the volume. An instant later Detective Howard Bates’s gravelly voice recited his name, title, and date, and advised all present that the interview was being recorded. He then Mirandized Bruton Ellis.

“Do you understand these rights?” Bates asked.

“I know what they mean.”

“You know why you’re here?”

“It ain’t to color fuckin’ Easter eggs.”

“Watch your mouth.”

A brief scratchy silence, then Bates continued. “Were you in the Snack and Gas convenience store early this morning?”

Silence hissed for the span of several heartbeats.

“If you want I can stop this interview right now and take you back to your cell.”

“It gonna help if I talk to you guys?” Ellis asked.

“Maybe.”

Another scratchy silence.

“So fuckin’ talk,” came another man’s voice. “Don’t sit there like a stupid shit and waste our fuckin’ time.”

Classic bad-cop psych-out, Kate thought and looked down at her legal pad. The other detective present was Joe Milkowski. A real badass from what she’d heard.

For several minutes Detective Bates questioned Ellis about what happened in the convenience store. Ellis’s answers were short and belligerent. Kate could hear the temper building in Bates’s voice, but he was a seasoned detective and kept a handle on it. Pushing just enough to keep Ellis going, trying to rattle him and get him to open up.