Burners - A Jack Daniels/Alex Chapa Mystery Page 8

  Chapa turned to Tony. “Is that true?”

  The old bailiff, who’d looked so forlorn since his gun was taken, cleared his throat loudly. “Uh, I should probably swear him in before he answers.”

  “Fine,” Carlos said. “Do it.”

  “No!” Lebanon yelled, but no one paid attention.

  The bailiff plodded to Tony with the court bible. “Put your left hand on the book and raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth?”

  “Yes.” Tony looked back to Chapa. “I never saw those cans before. Papa says metal cans are dangerous. They can strike something, cause a spark. The only cans we have around his shop are the plastic kind.”

  Chapa, apparently curious, clanged the cans together.

  Wait… clanged the cans?

  Oh, hell, how did I miss that?

  Chapa then gave me a look that told me we were both on the same page.

  “Emily, can you read back my testimony about when I first saw Tony?”

  She pressed more buttons. “Daniels - A minute before entering the bar, a teenage male ran by us on the sidewalk. He actually bumped me, and dropped his duffel bag. I made eye-contact with him as he picked it up.”

  “He dropped his duffle bag,” I said, triumphantly.

  “Did you drop your duffel bag, Tony?” Chapa asked.

  “Yes. I almost ran into the lady, uh, Officer Daniels, and my bag fell off and hit the sidewalk.”

  “What was in the bag, Tony?” I asked.

  “My work clothes. My uniform and work boots. I was late.”

  “What does it matter if the bag was dropped or not?” Lebanon was close to whining.

  Chapa smiled at me and I knew he understood what I was thinking. He lifted the bag until it was waist high, then let it go.

  The cans hit the floor with an echoing CLANG!

  “When the defendant dropped his bag in front of me,” I said, addressing the jury. “It didn’t make a sound.”

  I’d noticed the noise the cans had made earlier, but had not put together what it meant until Jack laid it all out. It was obvious the kid never had those cans in his possession.

  Now the question was who did.

  I was almost certain I knew the answer, but time was running short. Carlos seemed to have calmed down some, but the two unarmed cops in the room were not going to wait forever to make their move. Especially now that they had skin in the game.

  There were a few more questions I needed to ask Jack, and I was about to when Malvo suddenly stood, displaying more energy than I’d seen from him before.

  “I need to go relieve myself,” he said and started to leave the bench.

  “You will sit down right now.” Carlos wasn’t calm anymore.

  “I told you, I have to take a piss.”

  “And I have the gun and I told you to sit down.”

  Sensing that something very bad was about to happen, I walked to the bench and tried to reason with the man.

  “Your Honor, if you could just hold on—”

  “I have a goddamned kidney stone and I’m extremely uncomfortable. So I’m walking out of here and—”

  Some people can’t be reasoned with.

  “Sit your tired ass down, Your Honor,” I said, raising my voice. Then locked eyes with Malvo and whispered, “Before you wind up getting shot. Which is exactly what’s going to happen if you try to leave.”

  He looked at Carlos, then back at me, grimaced, nodded, and sat down.

  I turned my attention back to Jack, who gave me a nicely done look. At least that’s what I think it was.

  “Now, Lieutenant, you testified that you had been on the scene throughout the entire arrest.”

  “That’s right.”

  “In fact, you were nearby during the entire event, from before the fire began until Tony was taken away.”

  “Yes. As I stated earlier, I noticed that everyone in the bar was rushing for the door, so I followed.”

  “And how much time would you say passed from when you became aware of the fire until it was put out?”

  Jack appeared to consider it for a moment. “The fire department got there in a hurry and had it under control fairly quickly, but it took longer to get it out entirely.”

  Lebanon nearly jumped out of his chair to blurt out his latest idea. “He stashed the cans!”

  Jack shook her head. “There wasn’t anywhere for him to hide two gas cans. I know, I went by there yesterday to check the place out.”

  “You did some investigating on your own? Without jurisdiction?” Emmanuel Lewis said, sounding nothing like Webster.

  “I walked around the block. The shops on either side of Laserquick are attached, so there are no alleys to stash anything. The storefront has no bushes, no benches, not even a fire hydrant—that’s two doors to the east.”

  “What about around back?” Lebanon demanded.

  “The only hiding place behind the shop is a Dumpster.”

  Lebanon put his hands on his hips. “And is the esteemed, big city lieutenant telling the court that she actually went Dumpster diving?”

  “That would be tough, considering the Dumpster, along with all the others behind the shops, had a lock on it.”

  “Now that we’ve got that cleared up,” I said, glaring at Lebanon who seemed to get the message and sat down. “Back to the scene of the crime. Lieutenant, how quickly did they get the body out of the building?”

  “It didn’t take them long at all. As soon as they had the fire under control, for the most part, three firefighters rushed in and pulled the deceased out a minute later.”

  “Did you see the body?”

  “From across the street, yes.”

  “Was the deceased burned in any way?”

  “Not that I could tell, but again, I was across the street.”

  I turned toward Officer James, who was still trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the floor. Or maybe he was worried about getting his pants dirty.

  “Was the body burned?”

  He just stared at me. No emotion. No response.

  “Answer his question.” Carlos was pointing the gun directly at James’ head. It was clear he blamed this man, more than anyone else, for his son being on trial.

  “He died of smoke inhalation,” James mumbled.

  “Could you repeat that,” I said, just because the guy was starting to seriously rub me the wrong way.

  “Smoke inhalation, that’s what killed him.”

  I turned to Lipscomb, matched her look of indignation.

  “Is that right, prosecutor?”

  “That was determined to be the cause of death, yes. The coroner isn’t supposed to testify until tomorrow, so he isn’t here to corroborate, but that’s what his report said.”

  “Lieutenant Daniels, in your experience, how long does it take for a person to die from smoke inhalation?”

  Jack thought about it, and for a moment I worried that she might not know the answer. Then I realized she was trying to put some pieces together.

  “It can take as long as twenty or thirty minutes, or as little as five if the fire is really thick and smoky.”

  “And would you say the Laserquick fire was thick and smoky?”

  Jack shook her head. “No, not at all.”

  “So do you think it’s possible that smoke inhalation was not the cause of the death?”

  “Objection, calls for a conclusion.”

  I’d had enough of Lebanon. “Honestly, dude, you gotta stop doing that.”

  “I suppose it’s possible, but I really can’t speak to that since I only saw the deceased from a distance.”

  True to form, Milledge had not said a word during the time I’d been working harder than he had to save his client. But now I needed his input.

  “You said in your opening statement something about challenging the established cause of death. What were you referring to?”

  Milledge, apparently surprised to be included in the proceedings, squared his shoulders a
nd fumbled with some notes on the table.

  “Well, we were hoping to find a way to introduce evidence that the deceased was already dead before the fire began. Judge Malvo had denied our request to do so during the pre-trial.”

  “You didn’t prove any of it was relevant,” Malvo growled from behind the bench in a jagged, deathbed voice.

  I ignored him, and so did Milledge.

  “The victim had a huge gash across the back of his head. We have pictures.”

  “Which was caused by his falling when he passed out or was struck by part of the ceiling collapsing,” James said while Milledge searched his files.

  A few seconds later he produced the ghoulish photo of the back of Dennis Braun’s head. Sure enough, it showed a hole big enough to kill anyone. I handed the picture to Jack.

  “What do you think?”

  “I’d want to know where the body was discovered.” Jack said.

  So did I. “Officer James?”

  “The victim was found face down behind the counter.”

  “How far is the counter from the front door?” I asked, and watched James’ head swivel back and forth from me to Lebanon and back again.

  “Maybe thirty feet,” James said, his eyes on Lebanon.

  “I’ve been in a fire,” Jack said. “Your one overwhelming urge is to get the hell out. That’s what Braun would have done, had he been conscious and able. He wouldn’t have waited around until he died of smoke inhalation. He would have run out the front door.”

  “Unless something prevented him from doing that. Something like a blow to the back of the head,” I added.

  “Which was caused by a ceiling beam that collapsed, like Officer James said,” Lebanon, still trying to find a winning card in the losing hand he’d been dealt.

  “Officer James, was the deceased found under that collapsed beam?”

  “No, one room over. We believe he tried to make it the door, but couldn’t. Then the smoke got him.”

  That seemed plausible, but I still wasn’t buying. “So Braun stuck around until the fire was so out of control a beam collapsed? All the while choking on smoke?”

  James didn’t reply, but I could tell by his expression that he didn’t like me much.

  “I think I can settle all of this once I call my next witness,” I said.

  Jack seemed surprised. “Next witness?”

  I turned to face the gallery. “I call Mr. Joel Luzinsky to the stand.”

  It wasn’t hard to spot Luzinsky. Not only was he the biggest guy in the courtroom, but he was also one of the few people who didn’t cower when Carlos pulled out the weapon. Must’ve been the marine training.

  Even when Carlos fired the warning shot to stop Officer James, Luzinsky’s first concern, his instinctive response, was to tell Alice Braun to get down.

  “What do you want from me?” he said in a voice that matched his stature.

  I walked toward the gallery, and decided to take a direct approach.

  “I want to ask you about the affair you’ve been having with Alice Braun.”

  A collective gasp filled the courtroom. I looked back at Jack. She was shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

  “I’ve seen the non-verbal exchanges between the two of you, and how she was your first concern when all hell broke loose in the courtroom. No offense, Carlos.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Luzinsky slowly stood, and I started to turn toward Jack, anticipating the big man taking the stand. But that never happened.

  “It’s not an affair,” Luzinsky said, then turned to look at Alice Braun, whose eyes were glassy with tears. A wave of not-so-quiet conversation filled the courtroom, prompting Luzinsky to raise his suddenly unsteady voice. “We’re in love, we have been for more than a year, and I don’t care who knows it. I’m proud of our love!”

  Another gasp.

  I considered asking him again to take the stand, then thought better of it. Figured Luzinsky would be more candid right where he was.

  He looked away from the widow, down to his shoes, and when the crowd had quieted, he continued.

  “I tried to talk to Dennis about it. Tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He came at me with a huge roll of paper. I hit him. Hit him hard and he fell back. He just laid there on the table, didn’t move at all.”

  “He was dead?” I asked.

  “I thought I’d killed him. Then his eyes snapped open, had a crazy look in them. That’s when I slugged him again, even harder. His head slammed against the iron handle of that giant paper cutter he had in the shop.”

  I looked over at Alice Braun. She was sobbing, her head turned away from Luzinsky, who wasn’t finished yet.

  “He was dead that time.”

  “So, you killed him?”

  “Yeah, I killed him.”

  “He did?” I heard Jack say behind me. Her eyes weren’t rolling anymore.

  “Yes, he did,” I responded, nodding.

  I was thinking about the best way to get Carlos to give me his gun so that I could turn this whole mess over to the authorities, when Luzinsky finished his statement.

  “But I didn’t start that fire. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, he didn’t,” it was Jack again, this time she was shaking her head.

  From the direction of the jury box I heard someone say, “Wow.” I turned and saw Bob mesmerized, his mouth open so wide that I thought he might be hyperventilating. He’d likely pass out if this got any more exciting.

  And then it did.

  A gunshot exploded in the courtroom and I saw Carlos Beniquez’s body spew blood that splashed onto the defense table, the attorneys, and all over Tony’s shirt.

  For an instant, Carlos’ eyes grew wide. Then his body went limp and he dropped the gun, an instant before collapsing to the floor.

  That’s when things really turned crazy.

  Malvo.

  The shot came from the judge’s bench, and when I looked I saw the old guy standing there, one hand pressed to his kidney, the other extended toward Carlos and ending in a revolver.

  Movement, on the floor to my right.

  It was Officer James, scrambling on all fours, going for Carlos’ dropped weapon. He was closer to it than I was.

  Things had gone from bad, to worse.

  “Give me the gun, Your Honor,” I said, standing up and reaching out to him.

  Malvo appeared to be somewhere between confused and shocked.

  “I did what I had to do,” the judge said in a monotone. “The man was holding us hostage.”

  “The gun.”

  By this time, James had secured Carlos’ weapon, and the bailiff was approaching them, handcuffs in hand. Lewis had made his way over to Luzinsky, and they were in heated conversation.

  “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” Malvo said to no one in particular. “So I waited until he was distracted, and—”

  “Give me the gun!” I yelled.

  Malvo startled, then handed it over. It was a .32 Smith and Wesson snubby, five still in the cylinder.

  “Papa! Are you okay? Papa!”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Chapa wrestling with Tony, trying to keep him from rushing to his father. A smart move—James now had Carlos’ gun, and his angry expression telegraphed his intent to use it on whoever gave him an excuse.

  The courtroom had erupted into chaos. Screaming. Shouting. Movement everywhere. Many ran outside. Some—mostly press—stuck around, frantically scribbling on notepads or scrambling to get a quote.

  “Someone call an ambulance!” I yelled over the din.

  James stood up, the gun at his side, and stared at Luzinsky.

  Luzinsky looked terrified, and he was frantically shaking his head no.

  I left my vantage point on the stand and intercepted James as he made his way toward Luzinsky and Lewis.

  “Get out of my way, Lieutenant.”

  He was bigger than me, and more important, his g
un was bigger than mine. The .32 looked like a child’s toy compared to Carlos’ semi-auto .45.

  “Shouldn’t you be securing your prisoners, James?”

  He looked to Luzinsky, and back to me. A frown creased his face.

  “You’re in no position to give orders, lady. This isn’t your beat.”

  He tried to walk around me. If I wanted to do the smart thing, I should have let him pass. He had a gun. This was his jurisdiction. Any suspicions I had could wait until later, when things cooled down.

  But instead, I stepped in front of him.

  Sometimes the smart thing had to take a back seat to the right thing.

  “It’s over, James.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The fires. You’ve got this whole town scared. But Luzinsky has a murder wrap over him. He’s going away for a long time. You don’t think he’ll spill everything to get a reduced charge? He wants to get out of jail while he’s still young enough to be with his mistress. That means he’ll sell out you, Lewis, and your whole bunch.”

  James actually snarled. “You little bitch. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I’ve got a story for you, Alex,” I said to Chapa without breaking eye-contact with James.

  Chapa, had given up wrangling a hysterical teenager, and was two steps behind James, listening to our exchange. Bringing a reporter into this would make it less likely for James to do anything stupid.

  At least, that was the hope.

  “You know who is starting the fires,” Chapa stated.

  “Watch Officer James’ face while I lay it all out. He and his partner didn’t get those nice suits on their civil servants salaries. Instead, they’re extorting money from the local shop keepers.”

  Chapa nodded slowly. “The old protection racket.”

  “Exactly. And if people don’t pay up…”

  “They get burned,” Chapa finished. He appeared to be looking around for something. “May I quote you, Lieutenant?”

  “Sure. And it gets better. Officer Nicholas James broke into my room early this morning and threatened me.”

  James’ right eye twitched.

  “He wore a mask and gloves, and he disguised his voice. But he made a big mistake. Want to know what your mistake was, Nick?”

  He stayed silent, refusing to be baited. “Your Rolex. It’s a Submariner, used for scuba diving. So it has luminous dials that glow green in the dark. I saw a flash of green when you were leaving my room. Had to be you, because your partner wears a Movado. Movados don’t glow.”