Ch 1-10

Summary

Three years on from the life-changing Cryptic Killer case life was good for New York City Homicide Detective Lieutenant Jack Head. That was until he experienced an uneasy sense of Deja Vu when he started receiving strange coded emails, linked to his latest murder investigation. Like the Cryptic Killer case of old, Jack had to somehow decipher these unusual emails if he was to catch his killer. Only this time round, not even the police were safe from this latest killer’s cross hairs.

Chapter 1

Ben Davis lounged in his favorite leather wing-back arm chair, savoring a balloon of the finest cognac and choice of Cuban cigar, with his fellow club members. The dancing flames crackling from the nearby open fire place created a warm, comforting ambience.

After a long week presiding over lengthy and involved criminal trials, the highly respected New York City judge’s preferred way to spend a relaxing Saturday night, was to share cocktails with his like-minded colleagues in the privacy and exclusivity of The Yale Club lounge.

The time approached 9pm when the judge checked his cell. His UBER was now only five minutes away. ‘Well, gentlemen…’ he began, then emptied his glass. ‘I must be on my way.’ He stubbed out what remained of his cigar.

His aging knees creaked when he stood from his lounge chair. ‘All being well…’ he said, as he fastened a button on his dark suit jacket. ‘I shall see you all on Wednesday night.’ He tugged down on his shirt cuffs, checked his cuff links, then dusted some lint from his right sleeve.

With a nod farewell, he moved to collect his overcoat before he made his way down to the street to meet his pre-ordered ride.

The doorman heaved open the front door as the judge approached. ‘Have a good evening, Your Honor,’ he said.

The judge lifted his chin in a muted greeting, as he ambled out onto the street and into the back seat of his waiting black UBER street car.

Apart from the initial greeting from the driver, not much else was said during the ride. The UBER app had already informed the driver of his customer’s destination.

The judge’s travels took him south down 2nd Avenue. The slow-moving traffic was surprisingly heavy for a wintery Saturday night.

The UBER driver coasted to a stop behind a number of vehicles stationary at the East 42nd stop light. The judge checked his watch, then lifted his impatient eyes to the street.

In the time it took for the judge’s heart to skip a beat from the shock of someone standing on the roadway, by his window, the balaclava-wearing person at the door had already fired two shots, in quick succession into the judge’s chest.

This was followed by a single head shot that sprayed bone and brain matter across the opposite side window, before the judge’s limp, corpulent body slumped across the passenger seat.

The muffled thuds from the suppressed pistol were almost lost among the sounds of the New York City traffic.

By the time the UBER driver realized why his car’s rear window had shattered, the shooter was gone, swallowed up by the concealment of darkness.

---

While the judge took his last breath over in midtown, the formal part of the evening had arrived in a reception venue across the Hudson River.

Jack Head checked his watch. His nervous eyes lifted to Caitlyn. His wife gave him a reassuring nod. Jack drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He pushed his towering frame up from his seat.

He glanced around the one hundred, or so guests, while he lightly tapped a fork on his champagne glass, until the conversational hum silenced and all eyes turned to him.

Public speaking was something that came natural to Jack. As a career cop, he’d given countless television interviews, been a key note speaker at conferences, spoken at universities and regularly briefed all levels of government on various aspects of criminal offending.

But tonight, Jack experienced something foreign to him. The pit of his stomach was heavy and it churned. His massive hands perspired. His heart raced. For the first time ever, he was nervous about giving a speech.

Tonight was important to him and he knew it was important to his boy, Dan. To be accepted back into his son’s life after missing most of it, meant the world to him.

But when Dan and Sarah asked him to speak at their wedding, the big man shed a tear for only the second time in his adult life. To him, such a request was recognition of Dan’s forgiveness for all his parental shortcomings.

Jack scanned the silenced room. All eyes were now on him. He forced out a smile. ‘Good evening… For those of you I am yet to meet… I’m Jack. I’m Dan’s proud father…’ He gestured towards Dan seated at the Bridal table. ‘When Dan and Sarah asked me to say a few words at their wedding, I was deeply touched and honored. It meant so much that he wanted me to be part of his life again. Those of you who know me… and know our family,’ he said. He made eye contact with Caitlyn. Caitlyn smiled her reassurance. ‘Know that I wasn’t the best dad to my boys. I missed their developing years and most of their milestone events, through a misguided priority of work over family.’

The eye-opening moment came to Jack, around three years ago, when his focus was solely on an all-consuming case, where a killer sent him cryptic clues that gave him forty-eight hours to decipher, before the next victim was murdered. It was a case he later dubbed The Cryptic Killer.

It was during this investigation that Jack’s oldest son, Max, whom he had not seen in a number of years, was killed in a car accident, while on a work assignment in LA. It was a life-changing event for Jack, in many ways.

‘But three years ago…’ Jack continued. ’I had a rude awakening… Sadly, it took the tragic passing of my eldest boy, Max—Dan’s older brother… for me to realize the importance of family.

‘There is not a day goes by that I am not thankful for Lynnie,’ he said, using his pet name for his wife, Caitlyn, ‘and Dan, for accepting me back into their lives and giving me a second chance at being a dad and a husband. Some people don’t get that chance… But I did.’ Jack’s voice broke. He coughed to try and mask his emotions.

Even after all these years, trying to hide his emotions was still an instinctive reaction Jack carried over from his childhood.

Jack’s father was a man’s-man and a tough disciplinarian. He was physically imposing, not unlike Jack’s build, and he believed it was a sign of weakness for a man to show emotion- any emotion.

“Real men don’t cry and they don’t show fear, boy”. His Father’s words still resonated after all these years.

As an adolescent, if Jack, or his brothers cried after being disciplined, his father would always say, “you gonna cry, are ya…? Then I’ll give you something to cry about”, and he would hit them again—only harder.

Jack learned very quickly to disguise and suppress his tears and emotions. So, the big man shedding tears, whether they be for happy, or sad reasons, was until recent times, as rare as hen’s teeth.

Caitlyn took hold of his hand for support. He squeezed her hand as he continued. ‘Anyway… I want to say to my boy Dan, that it has been an honor to share with you the last three years of your life, and I look forward to many more.’ Caitlyn discreetly caught an escaping tear.

’Anyway, enough about me… I would like to welcome you all here tonight and thank you for coming along and sharing in Dan and Sarah’s special day. Some of you have traveled considerable distances to be here and we thank you for that. I know Dan and Sarah are most appreciative.

‘I’m not going to embarrass Danny with anecdotal stories… I think I’ll leave that to the Best Man, Kade. To our beautiful new daughter, Sarah… How gorgeous does she look everybody…?’ He gestured to Sarah, then paused to allow the collective compliments that followed. ’Caitlyn and I have noticed how much love you have for Dan and we are forever grateful for that. We welcome you into our family with open arms.

‘Before I finish up, there is one last thing I would like to say.’ Jack motioned to Caitlyn and she joined him standing. He draped an arm around her. ‘To our wonderful son and our beautiful new daughter. May your marriage be full of more love than you can experience in this lifetime—we love you both, dearly,’ he said.

Jack and Caitlyn resumed their seats to the warm applause of the guests.

Chapter 2

Dan stood from his seat. ‘I know this is a break from tradition…’ he said, as he beckoned to the Usher. ‘But I would like to respond, if I may…’ A male usher scurried over to Dan and handed him a microphone.

‘Three years ago… almost to the day… I lost my best friend—my brother, Maxie, tragically taken in a motor vehicle accident over in LA. I felt like my world imploded.’

Jack exchanged a sneaky glance with his good friend and trusted colleague, Doug ‘Spence’ Spencer seated at a neighboring table with his wife.

It was a little over three years ago, while enjoying the radiant warmth from a backyard fire pit in Rumson, one chilly Saturday evening, while Spence and Jack discussed the Cryptic Killer case, Jack and Spence made a promise to each other, and it was a promise they would take to their graves.

Dan continued. ‘Max guided me and taught me the lessons of life, in a way that only big brothers can. He was not only my big brother but he was also the father I never had… or never really knew.’

Jack’s eyes fell heavily to the table in front. Caitlyn squeezed his hand.

As if on cue, Jack’s ringing cell phone interrupted Dan’s speech. Dan paused, watching as Jack checked his cell. Jack’s shoulders slumped when he noticed it was work calling.

One of the downsides of being a New York City homicide cop was that you were always on call. Criminals couldn’t care less about interrupting special family events. Jack knew this all too well.

When his focus shifted to Caitlyn, she slowly shook her head. Jack’s gaze fell to the ringing cell in his hand. He had missed most of Dan’s childhood. He missed Dan’s birthdays, his Christmas mornings, thanksgivings and graduations, all because of his work and now the universe wants him to miss his son’s wedding.

The Jack of old would’ve been half way out the door by now. But not the new Jack. He hit ‘reject call’ and dropped his cell onto the table. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. He gestured to Dan to continue.

Dan smiled. ’So yes…. Three years ago I lost my brother… but out of the tragedy of losing Max, I gained a father and I just want to say, Dad… It has meant the world to me to be able to share these last three years of my life with you, and especially to be able to share today with you.

‘They have been the happiest times for me… To have you around for advice and guidance. To hear your corny dad jokes, and I gotta say, you are not short of a story or two from an interesting life well-lived. What I’m trying to say is… the past doesn’t matter. The now matters, Dad, and I’m glad you came back. I’m glad you are part of our lives, and I know mom agrees. I love you.’ Dan’s eyes welled as he gestured to the usher to take the microphone for the next speaker.

When Spence saw Jack reject the call he took the initiative, as trusted colleagues do. The only reason Jack would’ve received a call at this time of night, at his son’s wedding, would’ve been because something had happened.

Spence slid from his seat and moved to the back of the room, while he called the station.

A short time later, while the best man continued with his anecdotal stories of Dan’s college years, Spence sidled up to Jack and whispered in his ear.

‘There’s been a shooting on 2nd Avenue… First responders think it looks like a hit.’

Jack nodded his understanding. ‘OK…’ His eyes met Caitlyn’s firm glare, as she watched on. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but she must’ve known it was about work.

‘The victim is Judge Davis…’ Spence whispered. Jack’s eyebrows arched. His focus snapped to Spence. Spence nodded his confirmation.

‘Shit…’

The judge had presided over many of their murder cases over the years. He was a tough judge and he ran a strict court room.

Jack had been on the receiving end of many firm criticism from the judge.

‘He was a passenger in an UBER…’ Spence said. ‘Double tap to the chest and one to the head. The first responders have taped off the scene and they are calling for homicide to attend.’

Jack’s gaze flicked across to Dan and Sarah. Both were focused on the best man, laughing at his stories.

When Jack’s focus shifted to Caitlyn, her eyes pleaded her “not again, Jack” look. He knew that disappointed look all too well from years gone by.

‘Two in the chest. One to the head…’ Jack repeated.

‘Yep. Typical Mozambique tap.’

‘‘Shit. Professional hit…’ Jack rubbed a hand over his mouth. ‘Once this gets out, Spence, the media will be all over it.’

‘I tell you what…’ Spence began, speaking so Caitlyn could hear as well. ‘Why don’t I go in and take charge of the scene.’ He flicked a finger in the direction of Dan and Sarah. ‘This is your son’s wedding. You stay here and enjoy yourself. I’ll fill you in when we catch up later.’

Jack paused briefly while he contemplated Spence’s offer. ‘You know what…?’ He nodded his approval. ‘I would really appreciate that.’

‘Not a problem…’ Spence said. He winked at Caitlyn

Caitlyn mouthed, “thank you” to Spence. He smiled his response as he placed a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder, then returned to his table to inform his wife their night was over.

---

Dan and Sarah’s reception eventually wound up at midnight. While the younger crowd discussed which nightclub they would head to, Jack and Caitlyn took a short cab ride home to their Hoboken apartment.

The move from Montclair to their new apartment in Hoboken came about when, shortly after Maxie’s tragic passing three years ago, Jack took Spence’s advice and started seeing Caitlyn again.

Over time, they rekindled their relationship. She was always the love of his life and he was hers, he just never took the time to let her know it. But now he had learned from his mistakes.

It didn’t take long before Caitlyn invited Jack to move into her Montclair home to live with her and Dan, that is, when Dan wasn’t staying at Sarah’s.

Living in Montclair with Caitlyn was vastly different to his small downtown, inner-city apartment. The air was clean and fresh. It was noticeably quieter. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he heard a car horn in the distance.

They even had a large lawn covered backyard, complete with a barbeque gazebo.

But best of all was, he had Caitlyn back in his life. To him, life was complete.

Montclair was a beautiful township but the downside was the tiring 1¼ hour commute, each way to Jack’s office every day, and that was on a good day.

It wasn’t until Dan and Sarah moved into their own apartment in Brooklyn around twelve months ago that Jack and Caitlyn decided they no longer needed the big four-bedroom house in Montclair. They even decided they no longer needed Montclair and chose to move closer to the city.

So, Jack called in a favor, or two from some of his realtor contacts and with the sale of their Montclair house, they secured a chic 1524 square foot, two-bedroom, two-bathroom penthouse apartment on Hoboken’s southern edge, for a bargain.

Close to the Hudson River waterfront with views of the New York City skyline, they had their own private elevator that opened directly into the apartment.

Complete with seventeen-foot ceilings, oversized picture frame windows, two king-sized bedrooms, open plan living, fully equipped chef’s kitchen and hardwood timber flooring throughout, the apartment was difficult to pass up when it came on the market.

And best of all was that for Jack and his long work hours, it was only seventeen minutes to his office, via the Holland Tunnel, or forty minutes by the PATH train.

The close proximity to New York City also benefitted Caitlyn’s business development consulting, so their decision to move was an easy one.

---

It had been a long and tiring day for them both, with Dan’s afternoon wedding, followed by the evening reception. Caitlyn was well and truly past her bed time.

Once the cab dropped them off and Caitlyn was settled in back home, Jack arranged for a black and white to collect him from his apartment and take him to the shooting scene, to meet up with Spence.

The time ticked a little after 12.45 am when Jack arrived at East 42nd and 2nd. Traffic was still diverted.

The crowds of curious onlookers, who hours earlier lined the perimeter crime scene tape, had long lost interest and moved on.

Several battery-powered portable flood lights had been set up to assist with evidence gathering.

A pop-up canopy had been erected over the judge’s UBER, to protect potential evidence from the elements.

Crime scene officers were in the process of finalizing their examination of the UBER. The coroner had already removed the judge by this time.

Jack slid out of the black and white. A uniform cop lifted the crime scene tape as Jack approached. ‘Hey, Jobs…’

To most who knew him, Jack was better known by his peer-given nickname—Jobs, than by his birth name.

‘How’d the wedding go…?’

‘Wedding was good.’ Jack grunted as he ducked under the raised tape. He rubbed his hands together rapidly to warm them up. ’Seen Spence ‘round anywhere?’ he asked while he scanned the floodlit scene. He dived his hands into his coat pockets.

Caitlyn reminded him before he left, not to forget his gloves. But he became distracted and did just that- forgot his gloves.

‘Last time I saw him he was…’ The cop scanned the area. ‘Yeah. There he is, over by the News trucks.’

Chapter 3

Spence excused himself from the female journalist he was talking with and moved to meet Jack, as he approached. ‘Hey Jobs… How’d the reception end up…?’

‘It went really well, Spence. I owe you one, buddy. I can’t thank you enough for that. I know it meant a lot to Dan and Lynnie that I stayed after work summoned me in.’

As the temperature fell, you could see their breath when they spoke.

Spence waved the back of his hand. ‘Not a problem. Oh. By the way. Before I forget. I rang the Gnome shortly after I got here, being a high profile vic, and all…’

Captain Johnson, AKA the Gnome, was Jack and Spence’s boss. He was given the unflattering nickname because he stood just on five feet tall, with a slight build and severe Napoleon complex, to overcompensate for his obvious lack of physique.

‘Good. What did he say?’

‘Said uniform had already called him. So he’d already heard about it. He asked why I was calling. Wanted to know where you were…’

Jack’s eyes fell shut. His head lolled to the side. ’Fucken ass ‘ole…’ he blurted. ‘You’d never believe he and I worked together as partners for years, would you…?’ he said rhetorically, while shaking a disappointed head. ‘Once they get promoted to Captain… all bets are off.’

‘It’s all good, Jobs. I told him you were in the middle of interviewing witnesses and you asked me to call him to let him know.’

‘Well done…’ Jack lifted his chin to the floodlit crime scene. ‘So, fill me in. What have we got…?’

Spence gestured to the passenger side of the UBER, as they moved towards the vehicle. ‘The judge was sitting here in the back seat,’ he said. ‘The shooter stood here and fired three shots through the window.’ Spence formed a pistol with his thumb and pointer finger, as he gestured. ‘Two in the chest. One in the head.’

‘Military style…’ Jack said, thinking out loud.

‘Yep. Or trained hitman…’

‘Same-same…’ Jack peered into the blood soaked back seat. His face distorted. The mess on the opposite window was something he’d seen hundreds of times before. He was hardened to that.

It was the smell he always struggled to cope with. Regardless of how many times he’d experienced it, it never became any easier.

‘Do we know what weapon was used…?’

‘Forensics removed a 9 mill from the opposite door, most likely the head shot.’

‘Who called it in…?’

Spence flipped open his note pad. ‘Miles Cartwright. 48. Lives as 214 Waterview Terrace, Prospect Heights. He had stopped behind the UBER at the stop lights in his black Mercedes.’

‘What do we know about him…?’

‘Clean skin.’

‘Where is he now?’

Spence scanned the immediate area. ‘One of the uniform guys was taking a statement from him, for me…’ Spence continued to search. ‘Looks like he’s gone now…’

‘What did he tell us…?’

Spence checked his notes. ‘He says he was stationary at the stop lights, immediately behind the judge’s UBER. The shooter approached from this direction.’ Spence gestured north along 2nd Avenue. ‘The shooter stepped off the curb and casually walked over to the judge’s vehicle, lifted his firearm and fired three shots into the vehicle.’

‘Did the shooter say anything… Like, shouting Allahu Akbar, or scream out for the oppressed minority…? Anything…?’

‘Apparently not. Just walked up, fired and left. According to Mr. Cartwright, the shooter seemed very calm.’

‘Is the perp male or female…?’

‘He couldn’t tell. He suspects by the build it was probably male, but in all fairness… You can never tell these days…’ Spence checked his notes. ‘He described the shooter as slight to average build, around 5 feet 9, dressed all in black, with black gloves and a black balaclava.’

‘Skin color…?’

Spence shook his head. ‘Couldn’t tell. Everything was covered up and the eye holes in the balaclava were only slits, apparently.’

‘What was the direction of travel after the shooting…?’

Spence jabbed his pen north up 2nd Avenue. ‘Our witness says he casually picked up his brass, then ran in this direction, up the road against the traffic flow. Our witness didn’t see where he went after that because he called it in.’

‘So, the shooter is calm enough to pop three into the judge, in busy Saturday night traffic, then take his time to pick up his shell casings, before running away… I’m thinking this is not his first rodeo, Spence.’

‘Agree.’

Jack scanned the surrounding buildings. ‘We got cameras there. There.’ He turned to the east side of the street. ‘Another there and one over there…’ he said. ‘Jot down the building addresses, Spence.’

‘I was thinking, Jobs…’ Spence began ‘The judge lives on the Upper West Side, doesn’t he…?’

‘I was thinking the same thing. Do we know why he was heading south…?’

Spence referred to his notes. ‘The UBER driver said the fare was to 96 Carter Place in Williamsburg.’

‘Williamsburg…?’ Jack’s mouth inverted. ‘Probably heading to the Queens Midtown tunnel. Maybe our judge had a sneaky girlfriend, or something,’ Jack said. ‘What do we know about the UBER driver?’

Spence scoffed. ‘He’s more concerned about who’s paying for the shattered window and who’s cleaning up his UBER.’

‘Really…?’ Jack shook a disbelieving head.

‘He’s an Indian national…. Been living here for ten years.’ Spence checked his notes. ‘His name is Amit Chaudhry. Thirty-five years. Fulltime driver. No record. Lives in an apartment in Forest Hills with his wife and two children.’

‘Any other witnesses…?’

‘None identified as yet, but I expect more may come forward in time.’

‘OK…’ Jack exhaled heavily. He didn’t need this. Not tonight. This was not how he saw his night ending, after such an enjoyable day with his family. ‘Any need to tow the UBER for further testing?’

‘I don’t think so, Jobs. CSU gave it a good going over. They’ve cleared it. The shooter wore gloves, but never touched the vehicle, or entered the vehicle anyway. He had a full balaclava, so…’ his voice tapered off.

‘I agree,’ Jack said. ‘Let our UBER driver know his vehicle is clear for him to take. Let him know the cleanup crew will be in touch.’ Jack scanned the immediate area. ‘Looks like you’re just about done here… I assume the judge’s widow has been informed…’

‘Yeah, a uniform crew took care of that for us a few hours ago…’

‘Alright then.’ Jack checked his watch. ‘Let’s call it for tonight. I’m fucken freezing out here.’ Jack waved a hand. ‘Get this traffic moving again. We can visit the judge’s widow tomorrow morning.’

---

Jack was in the office bright and early Sunday morning. As is always the case with Jack, when he had an ongoing investigation, restful sleep was a rarity. And when the case was high profile, he may as well not have worried about going to bed at all.

When Spence arrived at 8am with two takeout hot coffees, Jack was perched on the side of his desk studying his office whiteboard.

‘Here you go big guy…’ Spence handed Jack his coffee.

‘You’re a lifesaver, Spence…’ Jack took a sip. ‘Oh, that’s good coffee.’

Spence took a sip as he glanced at the whiteboard. ‘So… What have we got here…?’

At the very top of the board Jack had written, “SHOOTER” Beneath that an arrow pointed to the dot point suggestions,

HIRED GUN

AGGRIEVED JOE BLOW

RAMDOM ACT????

Beneath this Jack had scribbled, “POSSIBLE SUSPECTS”.

PAST CONVICTED FELON???

BLM MOVEMENT????

ANTIFA????

OTHER EXTREMIST GROUP???? – NONE CLAIMED RESPONSIBILITY

HAVING AN AFFAIR – DISGRUNTLED HUSBAND??

‘Thoughts…?’ Jack said.

Spence lifted his chin to the board. ‘Too many unanswered questions at this stage, Jobs.’

‘I agree. I’m thinking number one.’ Jack pushed himself from his desk and tapped the words, “PAST CONVICTED FELON”. ‘It would be a long list, but we are gonna have to check all the judge’s recent cases for crooks he sent for a stretch.’ Spence rolled his knowing eyes. ‘We will also have to check for those he jailed who were paroled, or released shortly before the shooting.’

‘I hear ya. I don’t like it, but I hear ya…?’

‘We don’t have a choice Spence. No stone unturned. There will be a lot of eyes on us with this one, buddy.’

‘But what if it was a recent jailing by the judge and a gang member-slash-associate shot the judge in protest?’

‘It’s a possibility that is what could have happened. Right now, we are open to any and all possibilities until we can shorten the list.’

‘What about these others on your list.’ Spence tapped the whiteboard. ‘BLM… Really…?’

‘Well… I was thinking we need to check the judge’s past cases to see if there were any controversial decisions that could have upset anyone. In this current climate of political unrest and feelings of racism…’ Jack shrugged, as his voice trailed off.

Spence nodded his understanding. ‘What about Extremists and ANTIFA…? What are you thinking there?’

Jack took a moment while he considered Spence’s question. ‘I don’t really know. But if these so-called extremists can storm the Whitehouse and kill a Whitehouse cop in doing so… Is shooting a judge that far from their extremist capabilities…?’

‘And this one…?’ Spence tapped point number five. ‘The judge was seventy-two…’

Jack shrugged. ‘Maybe he was an advocate for those little blue pills…’ Jack smirked. ‘Who knows? Right now we can’t rule anything out.’ Jack checked his watch.

‘His wife is probably a good starting point, though. Ya ready to take a drive to the Upper West Side…?’

Spence drained his cup and dumped it into the trash bin. Typically, Jack left his empty cup on his already cluttered desk.

Chapter 4

Jack’s knock on the front door of the judge’s stately, Upper West Side home was answered by a much younger than expected, auburn haired woman. Only her head appeared around the partially open door. Her reddened bloodshot eyes frowned at the Sunday morning intruders.

Spence and Jack exchanged a brief puzzled glance. They were expecting to meet the judge’s elderly widow.

‘Can I help you?’ The woman said in a firm, unwelcome tone.

Jack held up his badge. ‘I’m Detective Lieutenant Jack Head and this is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer.’ Spence held up his badge. ‘We’re from New York City Homicide. Does Mrs. Davis reside at this address?’

‘She does.’ The woman said. She examined each police badge before responding further. ‘Mrs. Davis is my mother.’

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Jack said. ‘But I was wondering… Would it be possible for us to have a few words with your mother, please?’

The woman opened the door fully and stood in the doorway. She was in her forties with short salon styled hair. She wore stylish white pleated pants, a white collared button up shirt under a pale blue cardigan.

Dark short-spiked heels and an abundance of sparkling gold jewelry completed her Sunday morning ensemble.

‘I think she is available.’ She stepped to the side. ‘Come in, please.’

Jack and Spence entered and stood in a large tiled entry hall with three doors opening from it. A timber staircase wound up from the right wall, while a hallway led under the sweeping staircase, to the rear of the luxury home.

After closing the front door, the woman moved and opened a door to a room off to the right. She held the door for her guests to enter. ‘You can wait in here…’

Jack and Spence stepped into a large lounge room with high ceilings, ornate cornices, timber paneled walls and parquetry flooring.

She gestured to the two maroon colored leather lounges in front of a large open fireplace. ‘Please take a seat. My mother will be down shortly.’

Mrs. Davis arrived about five minutes later, accompanied by her daughter. ‘Gentlemen,’ she announced, as she entered the room.

Aged in her late sixties, Mrs. Davis radiated grace. Her white hair was salon styled. Her designer-label attire of dark pants, white open-neck blouse with an apricot scarf, exuded affluence and style. Even after a long night of grieving, her makeup was still fresh.

Jack and Spence stood from their seats. ‘My daughter informs me you are from Homicide… What can I do for you this morning?’ Mrs. David spoke with an aristocratic sophistication consistent with that of an elite social class.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Davis,’ Jack said. He approached the widow.

‘Please… Call me, Angela…’ She shook Jack’s hand.

‘Angela…’ Jack nodded. ‘My name is Jack Head and this is my colleague, Doug Spencer. Firstly please accept our deepest sympathies…’

‘Thank you, detective…’

‘I apologize for the early morning intrusion, Angela… We are obviously investigating the tragic death of your husband and we were hoping we could ask you some questions.’

‘Of course.’ She gestured to her daughter. ‘You have already met my daughter, Rosie…’

Jack nodded. ‘We have…’

Angela held out a hand, as she moved towards the lounges. ‘Please… have a seat.’

Jack and Spence followed. They sat on one lounge, Angela sat on the other, facing them. ‘Darling, could I impose on you to arrange some beverages for our guests…’

‘Of course mother…’ Rosie said. ‘Can I get you gentleman something…? A coffee… Perhaps you prefer a tea…?’

‘Coffee would be great, thank you,’ Jack said.

Rosie looked to Spence. ‘And for you, Mr. Spencer…?’ Spence was slightly taken aback by such a formal approach. ‘Ah… Coffee for me too, please.’

‘Thank you, darling…’ Angela said. She watched Rosie leave the room. ‘Now. How can I help you gentlemen?’

‘Did Judge Davis seem any different to you in the days leading up to yesterday?’ Jack said. ‘Distant. Pre-occupied. On edge, anything like that.’

‘No. I can’t say that he did. No.’

‘Did he discuss with you any problems he may have been having with anyone…? Or did he discuss any threats he may have received recently…?’

Angela shook her head. ‘No. He never mentioned anything like that to me. But then, I don’t expect that he would either, detective. He kept his work life separate from me. He never discussed his cases and he most certainly wouldn’t discuss receiving any threats.’

‘I see,’ Jack said. ‘Were you with your husband on Saturday night at any time, before the…’ Jack paused, concerned any reference to the shooting may upset the widow.

‘Shooting…?’ Angela said, finishing Jack’s sentence. ‘It’s alright, detective. I’m not a frail old woman. You don’t have to sugarcoat everything.’

‘OK. Noted. Thank you,’ Jack said.

‘I was not with my husband on Saturday night, detective.’

‘Do you mind if I ask, Angela… Is that a normal occurrence, or a one-off…?’

Angela appeared to be carefully choosing her words. After a quick check towards the doorway, she said, ‘my husband and I…’ She paused. Her eyes fell heavily to the floor. ‘Look… The best way I can describe it is… We lived separate lives.’

‘I see…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, detective… I loved my husband dearly and I am deeply saddened by what has happened. We just never did anything together.’

‘So, Saturday night…’ Jack began.

‘Saturday night, like every Saturday night, Ben went to his Yale Club for dinner, then drinks with his male colleagues.’

‘That was his routine…?’

Rosie returned carrying a tray. A pleasant freshly-brewed coffee aroma trailed her into the room.

She placed a cup and saucer in front of Jack, then Spence, before handing her mother a cup of tea. Rosie gestured to the tray. ‘Help yourself, gentlemen. There’s milk, cream, sugar and cookies.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ Angela said. She tapped the seat beside herself. ‘Join us,’ she said. Rose slid into the seat.

‘It was his routine,’ Angela said. ‘Well, Saturday and every Wednesday night. He always stayed at the club until around midnight, then he caught a cab home.’

‘Midnight…?’ Jack said. He briefly glanced at Spence.

‘Midnight… Always midnight. I know because I woke when he returned home around twenty, or so minutes passed midnight, each time.’

‘As far as you were aware, Saturday night was no different? The judge didn’t have any other events or parties to attend?’

‘No.’ Angela firmly shook her head. ‘No… Ben was not a social type like that. He enjoyed a quiet drink with his friends but he hated parties, mainly because of his job… You know… People recognized him all the time. Some were pleasant, but many were not.’

‘I understand.’

‘That is why he loved the club so much. It was his safe haven in which he could relax and socialize.’

‘Did His Honor own a lap top?’

Angela frowned at Jack’s question. ‘Yes, of course he did, but I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.’

‘We already have his cell phone, but we need to see if he received any threatening emails, or some other communication that might provide us with some clues.’

‘And you want to trawl through his laptop…?’

‘We do. It could provide us with some leads.’

‘It will be password protected, detective and I do not know his password.’

‘That’s OK. We have an IT team who can get around that.’

‘Really…? What’s the point of having passwords, then?’

‘That’s a very good question, Angela.’

Jack and Spence left what remained of their coffees as Angela and Rosie escorted them into the judge’s den, located across the entry hall from the lounge.

Timber paneled walls lined the den. A large bay window with an elevated street outlook filled the room with an abundance of natural light.

An oversized timber desk with a leather inlay sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase that filled the entire back wall.

An open laptop and a lamp were all that occupied the desk top, while a two-seater sofa and coffee table by the window were the only other furniture in the room.

Jack approached the desk. He gestured to the laptop. ‘May I?’

Angela extended her hand. ‘Please…’

Jack booted up the laptop and watched it move through its startup phase, until it paused at the password log in screen.

‘OK. As expected.’ He closed the lid. ‘Would you mind if we took this with us…? I promise I will return it once we are finished.’

Angela looked to Rosie standing by her side. ‘I can’t see why not…’

Rosie shrugged. ‘It can’t hurt, I suppose.’

‘I don’t expect I’ll be needing it, will I…?’ Angela asked, rhetorically. ‘It’s not like I can get into the darn thing.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

Spence issued Angela with a property receipt for their laptop. When he was done, Angela said, ‘now, if there is nothing else, gentlemen…’

‘No, I think we have taken enough of your time, Angela,’ Jack said.

‘I appreciate that. I have some family upstairs who have called in to see me.’ They exited the den into the entry hall. ‘Could you see our guests out please, darling.’ Rosie nodded. ‘Gentlemen,’ Angela said with a single nod, then ascended the stair case.

Rosie opened the front door. ‘Good day, detectives,’ she said, as Jack and Spence passed by.

The front door closed firmly behind them, as Jack and Spence descended the front stoop. Jack checked over his shoulder. ‘Did you hear what Angela said…?’ he began. ‘He stays at the club until—’

‘…Midnight,’ Spence said, finishing Jack’s sentence. ‘I did.’

‘Wasn’t the shooting a little after 9pm…?’

‘About 9.10pm.’

‘So where was he going at that time, if he “always” stays at the club until midnight?’

‘That is a good question. But I gotta eat jobs. I’m starving.’

Jack sprung the trunk. ‘The judge was on his way to 96 Carter Place, Williamsburg, wasn’t he…?’ He said, as he placed the laptop inside and shut the lid.

Spence checked his notes. ‘Correct.’

‘Breakfast will have to wait a little longer, my hungry friend.’

Chapter 5

Jack and Spence climbed the stoop leading up to the front door of the triple story brownstone residence at number 96.

At the top of the landing they were met by a dark green solid timber door. The bold choice of color was presumably chosen to coordinate and compliment the dark green ivy that crept up the front facade.

Spence nudged Jack then lifted his chin to the wall-mounted compact camera, off to their right. Jack acknowledged with a nod, then pressed the button on the intercom. He checked his watch.

Spence jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘That’s a strange placement of the security camera…’ he began. ‘When you access the intercom, you have your back to the camera…’

Jack passed a cursory glance at the camera before nodding a disinterested response. A short time later a curt sounding male voice crackled, ‘yes…’

‘Good morning, sir… My colleague and I are from New York City homicide. We were hoping to ask you some questions about an ongoing case we are working on.’

Silence followed. Jack’s frowning gaze flicked to Spence. Spence shrugged.

‘Are you still there…?’ Jack asked.

‘Hold your badges up to the camera please.’

Jack and Spence faced the camera and did as requested. They were still holding their badges up to the camera when the front door eventually opened.

A balding male in his early sixties, dressed casually in black Nike track pants, a teal blue collared t-shirt and bare feet, stood in the open door way, glaring at his visitors.

‘What’s this about?’

‘We’re investigating the shooting murder of Judge Ben Davis on 2nd Avenue last night and I—’

‘What has that got to do with me…?’ the man snapped. He crossed his arms tightly, hugging himself against the morning chill.

Before Jack could respond the man continued. ‘I mean, I saw it on the news this morning. It’s tragic, but I don’t know anything about it… OK. Good day gentlemen,’ he said then started to close the door.

Jack’s huge hand stopped the door closing.

‘Excuse me, detective. Do you mind?’

‘I do, actually. See here’s the thing,’ Jack began. ‘His Honor was in an UBER on his way to your house when he was shot…’ Jack said.

The man scanned the street. ‘Look, come inside please. It’s freezing out here…’ He stepped back from the door way. Jack and Spence stepped inside. The man made another quick scan of the street, as if to check no-one was watching, then followed them inside and closed the door.

While standing in the narrow entry hall at the foot of a staircase, the man firmly crossed his arms. This time his body language had nothing to do with the chilly ambient temperature. ‘Can you make this quick. My breakfast is getting cold.’

Jack glanced at Spence. His patience had already worn thin for this guy and his attitude.

Spence noticed Jack’s fading patience and took the initiative, to try and calm the situation down, or more importantly, calm Jack down.

Spence had worked long enough with Jack to know when his partner’s volatile temper was close to erupting. And when it did, the crook on the receiving end learned the hard way that Jack Head does not take any shit.

‘This is a lovely place you have here,’ Spence said. He scanned the hall area. ‘Do you own it, or are you renting?’

The man glared at Spence. ‘I’m renting. But what does that have to—’

‘How do you know Judge Davis?’ Jack said.

‘I don’t know him…’

‘He was on his way to your house…’

‘What can I tell you…? I don’t know him…’

‘Why would someone you don’t know be coming to your house?’

‘I would normally say you should ask him, but under the circumstances…’ the man shrugged.

Jack and Spence again exchanged a firm glance.

‘Did you host a party, or some other sort of gathering here on Saturday night…?’

‘I did actually.’

‘So the Judge was coming to your party then…?’

‘I have no idea. I didn’t invite him.’

‘What was the occasion?’

‘No occasion…’

‘This is like pulling teeth,’ Jack mumbled under his breath.

‘Excuse me…’ the man asked.

‘Look… The longer you take to answer our questions, the colder your breakfast is getting…’

‘OK. So I had a few friends around on Saturday night.’

‘How many people were here?’

‘I don’t know… About fifteen… twenty.’

‘But you didn’t invite the judge…?’ Jack said as a question.

‘I most certainly did not. I do not even know the man. Maybe he was attending with one of my friends. I don’t know. But I certainly did not personally invite him.’

‘I will need the names and contact details for all those who attended your party on Saturday night.’

‘I’m not giving you the names of my friends, so you can go and harass them too.’

‘Well someone at your party invited the Judge…’

‘Is that an offence…?’

Jack shook a frustrated head. His patience was done. ‘Look,’ Jack blurted. He took a step closer. His intimidating 6 feet 8-inch, 265-pound frame towered over the much shorter man. ‘We are investigating the murder of a well-respected Judge… Now, most people would be appalled by such a vicious act and would do all they could to help us find the killer. But not you. For some reason, you want to play these childish time-wasting games… Is it to make you feel superior…? Is that what it is…?’

‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’

Jack was old school. It didn’t matter if you were a witness, a suspect, or an offender, failure to answer Jack’s questions was viewed as a declaration of war. Smart-ass replies or sarcasm were fighting words. And poking that bear was not a smart move. Unfortunately, most only realized when it was too late.

But Spence knew his partner too well. He stepped in towards the man, nodded his, “I got this” to Jack, then addressed the man. Jack reluctantly took a step back, but his intense glower never left the man.

‘We’re just about done here. So if I could just get your name, we’ll be on our way.’

‘Why do you want my name? I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Then you won’t mind giving it to me then…’ Spence said with a reassuring smile.

The man held Spence’s gaze while several beats passed, presumably while he considered his options.

‘It is standard procedure. We record the names of all the people we speak to in an investigation…’ Jack explained in an emotionless, lecturing tone.

The man’s questioning eyes bounced back and forth between Jack and Spence. He exhaled, as if he conceded. He rolled his eyes. ‘Marcus Goodfellow. Alright. Are we done?’

‘What do you do for a living, Mr. Goodfellow?’ Spence said.

‘I’m a middle school principal. You don’t need to know what school. OK…’

Spence grinned at the naive comment. ‘And lastly… What is your age?’

’Sixty-three. We are done now. Thank you.’ He opened the front door. ‘You can leave.’ He tightly crossed his arms; his go to move when trying to show he was angry.

Jack and Spence exited the premises and moved down the stoop to the street below, to the resonating sound of the front door, as it firmly slammed shut behind them.

At their vehicle, Jack paused at the driver’s door and leaned on the roof. ‘Is it just me… Or was he an obnoxious asshole…’ He said across the vehicle roof to Spence.

‘No… It’s not just you. He definitely was.’

Jack wrenched open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. Spence slid into his seat.

‘So here’s what doesn’t add up…’ Jack began. ‘The judge’s wife told us the judge hates going to parties and crowds because he gets recognized, right…?’ Jack said. ‘Yet this Muppet up here, threw a party and the judge appeared to be on his way to it… What am I missing?’

‘Hard to say,’ Spence said. ‘Maybe the Judge was being set up for the ambush on 2nd Ave, or the shooting was unrelated and he was attending the party because he knew the crowd and didn’t feel threatened.’

‘If that’s the case our friend up there had to be lying when he said he didn’t know the judge.’ Jack started the vehicle. ‘We need to look further into this guy,’ Jack lifted his chin towards number 96.’

‘Agree, but he’s not too bright, for a school principal.’

‘How so?’

’When he said “I’m a school principal, but you don’t need to know what school,” Spence said in a mocking tone. ‘If he is a principal of a middle school, a ten second Google search will tell us what school he works at.’

‘It’s scary to think that Einsteins like that are teaching today’s kids.’ Jack said

‘Agree. But can we get something to eat now …’ Spence said.

Chapter 6

Jack and Spence slid into the visitor chairs in the manager’s office, watching while their host accessed CCTV footage from The Yale Club archives, on an oversized desktop computer screen.

It had taken a bit of convincing from Jack to get the manager to this point, when they didn’t have the appropriate warrant.

Following Spence’s gluttonous breakfast of bacon and eggs over two slices of rye, with an extra serve of bacon, four slices of raisin toast, two mugs of coffee and a huge breakfast smoothie, they made their way to The Yale Club in the hope to review footage from last Saturday night.

After arriving at The Yale Club, Jack and Spence waited in entry foyer while the doorman summoned down the club manager.

A short time later a tall, lean built man in his late fifties, wearing a black, fine pin-stripe suit and blue striped tie, exited the elevator and approached Jack and Spence.

He introduced himself as Carmichael Groves, The Yale Club Manager. He spoke with a pronunciation and clarity befitting a club whose members belonged to a privileged caste of those educated in private schools.

When Jack explained the reason for their visit, Mr. Groves “respectfully” refused their request to review the club’s CCTV footage from last Saturday night, without a warrant. He cited privacy restrictions.

Jack summoned his inner car salesman and sold to the manager how they were investigating the horrific murder of one of the manager’s own club members.

He informed Mr. Groves how they believed the murder was a targeted hit, which suggested the killer knew the judge’s movements. So, as a starting point, they needed to see if Judge Davis was followed when he left the club.

When Jack sniffed the manager was weakening, he went in for the close. Mr. Groves eventually caved when Jack said, ‘Look… We could go away and get a warrant, that wouldn’t be a problem to get, but all that would do is take time and time we don’t have. We need to catch this killer and we need your help to prevent it happening to any more of your club members, or anyone else.’

Jack exchanged a brief victory smirk at Spence when the manager, albeit reluctantly, agreed to Jack’s request. He requested they follow him to the elevators.

Following a short elevator ride to the 2nd floor, Mr. Groves escorted them through some opaque glass doors, past an uninquiring receptionist, down a narrow hallway, into his medium sized, window-less office.

He gestured to the two visitor chairs at his desk, while he moved around and slid into his chair opposite. The manager slipped on his glasses then tapped at his computer keyboard in silence. Jack and Spence watched on.

‘What time on Saturday were you wanting…?’ the manager asked.

‘The shooting occurred a little after 9pm… So can we start the review around 8.30pm.’ Jack said.

The manager tapped on his keyboard, then spun his monitor around to face his visitors. Jack and Spence leaned their elbows onto the desk as they watched the footage play.

‘Can you fast-forward this until we see the judge leave?’

‘Of course.’ The manager tapped some keys and the footage sped up.

The date and time stamp showed 8.59pm when the judge appeared in the footage. The manager tapped a key and playback resumed at normal speed.

The footage was clear and in color. The judge exited the premises at 9pm. The footage continued to run for several minutes past 9pm, during which, no other person was depicted leaving the club.

‘How long do you keep this footage for?’ Jack asked.

The manager removed his glasses and sat back in his chair. ‘Forty-five days, then it records over itself, unless we save the footage.’

‘Forty-five days…’ Jack repeated. He looked to Spence. ’So what’s that give us… ‘Five or six Saturday nights?’

‘Should be six Saturday nights in that period,’ the manager said.

‘OK. Can we see each of the Saturday nights you have in your archives please?’

‘Do you mind if I ask why you need to see these other nights?’

‘We need to see if someone followed the judge, to learn his routine.’

‘I see.’ The manager replaced his glasses and brought up the footage as requested.

In each of the Saturday nights they reviewed, the judge left the club at 9pm and climbed into a black car waiting out front.

No one left with the Judge and no one left close enough after the judge, to be of concern. Jack had seen enough.

Once the reviews were completed and no further questions remained, the manager escorted Jack and Spence back down to the club’s front entrance. Following an exchange of customary handshakes, they left the club.

---

Jack sat at his desk Wednesday morning mapping out his investigation plan for the judge’s murder. He was deep in concentration when a new email tone pinged on his desktop computer.

Jack opened the new email. The subject heading read, “Lieutenant Head.”

He read the body of the email, which contained a quote. He read the quote out loud. “No Man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true. – Nathaniel Hawthorne.”

There was no other information in the body of the email. Jack’s frowning gaze checked the sender’s unfamiliar email address.

The department’s IT system scan failed to recognize any viruses, so he opened the email attachment. A color photo of a man in a white business shirt and black tie filled his screen.

The photo’s subject had lifted a rubber mask up from his face and rested it on his head. The face on the mask was the same as the man’s face.

‘What the fuck is this…?’ Jack frowned.

He minimized his email and opened up Google. He typed in “Nathaniel Hawthorne”.

The search results returned, “Nathaniel Hawthorne(July 4, 1804 – May 19, 1864) One of the greatest fiction writers in American literature, he is best known for The Scarlet Letter (1850) and The House of the Seven Gables(1851).”

Jack rubbed a confused, but contemplative hand across his mouth. His jaw dropped. A chill ran down his spine as he had a flashback to the Cryptic Killer letters from over three years ago.

Was this some kind of perverted joke…? he wondered.

The warbling of Jack’s office phone broke his focus on the email. His IT department had responded to his follow-up inquiry about the judge’s computer, Jack left with them on Monday.

While he had IT on the line Jack asked if there was a way to check email addresses. There was. Jack read out the email address. Within thirty seconds, the IT member he spoke to informed Jack the address was not a valid email.

‘How can I receive an email from an email address that does not exist?’ Jack asked.

The IT member mentioned something about numerous ways to disguise emails now-a-days, but it was all getting too confusing for Jack’s basic computer literacy.

Jack was still on his phone when Spence appeared at the office door way. Jack waved Spence in, then pointed to the visitor chair at his desk, while he finished his call.

Spence slid into the chair, as instructed. He reclined in his chair and dumped his size nines on the edge Jack’s desk .He eyed the whiteboard information on the Judge Davis murder, while he waited for Jack to finish.

Today was the 4th day since the judge was shot and killed and they were no closer to finding the killer.

While there were always exceptions to every rule, from his experience, Jack believed in the theory that if they didn’t get their first viable lead, have a suspect, or an arrest within the first forty-eight hours, their chances of solving the case was cut in half.

Jack hung up the phone. He flicked a finger at the handset. ‘That was IT. The judge’s laptop I dropped into them on Monday, is ready to collect. They have bypassed the password login and accessed the hard drive. They also retrieved a number of deleted emails.’

‘Excellent. It’ll be good to look through them…’

‘What do you make of this email that just came in…?’ Jack said. He gestured to his computer screen.

Spence dropped his feet to the floor and stood from his chair. He moved around to Jack’s side of the desk and leaned on his hands while he read the email. Spence frowned. ‘Who’s Nathaniel Hawthorne?’

‘Good question…?’ Jack brought up Google. He flicked the back of his hand at the computer screen. ‘Apparently he’s an American fiction writer who died 157 years ago…’ he said. Spence read the search results.

Spence’s jaw dropped. His wide eyes flicked to Jack. He took a step back. ‘Is this some kind of joke…?’

‘I thought the same thing,’ Jack said. ‘But that’s not all… This came with it.’ Jack opened up the photo. He extended a hand to the monitor. ‘This was attached to the email.’

Spence move closer and squinted as he examined the photo. He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. What does it mean?’

‘All I can think is… The quote mentioned something about two faces.’ Jack brought the email back up to his screen and read, “No Man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude…” I assume that’s a reference to two faces.’ He brought up the photo. ‘Then there is this dude here with a mask of his own face – which I assume is a symbolic reference to having two faces…’

’OK. I get that… But why was it sent to you…? ‘Do you think someone is saying you’re two-faced…?’

Jack’s face tightened. ‘I never considered that… Do I have two faces…? I didn’t think I did.’

‘I wouldn’t have said so…’

‘Just putting it out there…’ Jack said. ’Could it have something to do with the Judge Davis shooting?

‘I doubt it. He was shot on Saturday and you said this came in now,’ Spence said. He checked his watch. ‘Four days later.’

‘OK. Let’s park it for now.’ Jack saved the photo. ‘What have you got for me…?’

‘I’ve got Pete Unly reviewing all the judge’s cases to see if we can get a short list of suspects…’

Jack reclined his high-back chair. ‘OK. Good. You know the Gnome will be calling me soon to ask where we are at with this case…’

Spence rolled his eyes. ‘Ah yes. That you can take to the bank…’ Spence said. ‘Anyway. What I came in for was, I have reviewed all the CCTV footage from the cameras on the neighboring buildings in 2nd Avenue.’

‘Anything worthwhile…?’

‘Nothing we don’t already know…’ Spence began. ’Two of the cameras faced north, so you can see the perp walking down the west side of 2nd, towards the stationary vehicle.’

‘Can you make out where he came from?’

Spence shook his head. ‘No. Limited lighting doesn’t help. I had to switch to the other two cameras, but you see the perp step off the curb… Shoot the judge, collect his brass, then run north back along 2nd up the middle of the road. You can make out the perp turn right into East 45th.’

‘Any cameras in East 45th?’

‘Nothing…’

‘I’m sure our shooter was well aware of that fact.’

Spence lifted his chin to the whiteboard. ‘I wonder what this judge was up to, Jobs…’ Jack’s gaze shifted to the board as Spence continued.

‘His wife tells us he stays at The Yale Club until midnight every Saturday night. Yet we reviewed a total of six weeks of Saturday nights in the club’s available footage… And on each Saturday night, the judge wandered out of the club at 9pm… always 9pm and climbed into a black street car…’

‘So the million-dollar question is… Where was he going at 9pm each time…?’ Jack said.

‘We know last Saturday he headed to Williamsburg… to the party at that Goodfellow’s house.’

‘And the judge hates parties… apparently.’

Jack pushed himself from his seat. ‘I’m gonna head down to IT and pick up the laptop.’ Spence dropped his feet to the floor and stood. ‘Keep me appraised of Unly’s searches.’

‘Will do,’ Spence said.

Jack and Spence left Jack’s office together. Spence returned to his desk immediately outside Jack’s office, while Jack continued.

He hadn’t gone three or four steps when he stopped and spun back to Spence. ‘Oh. While I think of it, Spence…’ Spence looked up from his reading. ‘Lynnie’s out at some meeting tonight, so I was thinking…’

‘Rosie’s…’ Spence said, knowingly.

Rosie’s…’ Jack said with a rare grin, then he continued on his way.

Chapter 7

Jack spent the afternoon combing through the judge’s laptop, trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.

There were gigabytes of various files and photographs, but the only thing of any relevance Jack located on the laptop was an email the judge received on the Friday before he was killed.

Unusual as the email was, it failed to throw any light on the murder.

Jack read and re-read the email message sent to the judge at 2.15pm on the Friday, the day before the judge was shot. The email contained a long sentence that lacked punctuation and utilized poor sentence structure.

There were so many possibilities with regards to what this email could mean. Jack decided to seek a second opinion from Spence.

‘Hey, Jobs…’ Spence said as he wandered into the office. ‘I’m gonna head down the street and grab a coffee. You want one?’

Jack sat back in his chair. He clasped his hands behind his head, somewhat surprised by the coincidence of Spence’s presence, before he had summoned him in.

‘Yeah… Yeah. That’d be great,’ Jack said. ‘But before you go… Can you have a look at this.’ He flicked a finger at his computer monitor.

Spence moved around to Jack’s side of the desk. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘This is the judge’s laptop…’ Jack said.

‘Oooh. Anything juicy on it…?’ Spence said, like an oversexed adolescent.

‘The judge received this email on the Friday before he was shot.’

Spence read the email out aloud. ‘I am looking for love but as you know the people in this current world of violence and hate with all the sexism all the strong feminism I lack readiness to commit and what of those who only want children instead of love.’

Spence’s puzzled gaze flicked to Jack. ‘What the fuck did I just read?’

‘So it’s not just me? That is an unusual sentence…?’

‘It is. Who sent it?’

‘There are no names in the body of the email…’ Jack scrolled the screen up to reveal the top of the email. ’The email address is “[email protected]”. The subject is “Number Five”.

‘Was the judge on a dating website…?’ Spence asked. ‘Maybe this, “Number Five” was his fifth date, or something.’

Jack brought up Google on his desktop monitor and typed in “weallneedcompanionship.com”. All that returned was “No match found”.

‘Well, that email address is not linked to a dating website,’ Jack said.

‘I just had a thought…’ Spence began. ‘Do you have the judge’s full email history there?’

‘I think so…’ Jack scrolled back through the email inbox.

‘Were there any other strange emails sent to the Judge on a Friday…? Especially the last five Fridays…’

‘What are you thinking?’ Jack said as he searched the inbox.

‘Maybe he was meeting someone… a blind date, or something like that and the email was to do with that meeting…?’

Jack scrolled the inbox. ’OK.Yep. The judge received an email in the afternoon of each of the previous five Fridays.’ Jack opened each email. ‘They each contained a different, unusually long sentence, like this one.’ Jack gestured to the first email. ‘But they are from different email addresses.’

‘Different blind dates, maybe…’ Spence said.

‘Maybe…’ Jack said, unconvinced. He reclined his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘Where this theory breaks down is… We know the judge was on his way to a party in Williamsburg. Now unless Goodfellow was his anonymous date… the meeting-a-date theory doesn’t seem to fit.’

‘What if the judge was meeting a male date…?’ Spence said. ‘A gay rendezvous, as it were. Could explain all the secrecy.’

Jack rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘I hear ya. But this part of the message here…’ Jack tapped the screen. ‘Mentioned, what of those who only want children instead of love.’

‘Gay couples can want children…’

‘No, I know that… It’s just… I’m not sure that theory fits…’ Jack’s eyebrows arched as he had a light bulb moment. ‘What if this message is some sort of code, rather than a lonely-hearts ramble…?’

Spence stood upright. ‘You’re not chasing ghosts of cases past, are you?’

Jack waved the back of his hand at Spence’s absurd reference to The Cryptic Killer case, which for all intents and purposes, remained unsolved.

‘I’m serious… This strange sentence could be a code…?’

‘It could be, I suppose…’ Spence said. ‘Maybe we should try and get hold of our young code breaker friend, who solved all the Cryptic Killer codes…’

‘Matthew Curry…’ Jack said.

‘That’s him.’

‘Only thing is… We don’t know it is a code…’

‘You’re right. But we also can’t be sure it isn’t.’

‘What the hell… It’s been three years since he helped us with The Cryptic Killer case. We don’t even know if he is still around, but give him a call.’

‘Before or after our coffee…?’

Jack checked his watch. ‘After.’ He pushed himself from his chair and stood. ‘Let’s go. I could do with getting some fresh air.’

---

Jack and Spence sat at the bar on their usual stools in the back corner, furthest from the front door. Contemporary music videos thumped from the two fifty-five inch wall-mounted televisions; tunes that suited a much younger demographic to the aging Jack and Spence

The horse-shoe shaped booths that used to run down the side of the room, below the mirror lined wall, had since been removed; a business decision of Rosie’s to allow more room for patrons.

In their place, Rosie added more elevated tables to lean on and groupings of tub chairs, all of which proved to be the correct move for her patron demographic.

The low-wattage spot lights over the polished solid mahogany bar complimented the ambience of the softly lit room, while providing sufficient light for the four bar girls to work.

Tonight, it was only Jack and Spence who ventured down the road to their favorite watering hole for a “post-work briefing”. Their team members each had other commitments.

When they arrived at Rosie’s Bar, a little after 5pm, patronage was low.

However as the afternoon rolled into early evening, the numbers started to climb, mostly by twenty to thirty something suits, chasing an after-work beverage and maybe some female company.

Rosie’s Bar had been the go-to for Jack and his team for many years. Before Jack moved to live with Caitlyn, the bar was conveniently located within staggering distance between his office and his one-bed apartment. It was his 2nd home.

Since Jack moved from his run-down city apartment, firstly to Montclair, then to Hoboken, Jack’s after-work visits to Rosie’s reduced considerably.

He was trying to re-kindle his broken marriage after the death of Max, so regular long, post-work sessions at Rosie’s, were not an option.

Rebecca grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey from the mirror-lined rear shelf and approached Jack and Spence’s corner of the bar. ‘Another one, guys…’ She smiled and poured another round for each. ‘Enjoy,’ she said then returned the bottle.

At twenty-nine, Bec had a touch of Irish about her appearance; complimentary pale white skin, flowing shoulder length red hair and a quick wit to keep even the drunkest of patrons in their place.

‘Cheers, Bec,’ Jack said.

Jack and Spence watched her walk away in her tight, low-waist jeans that hugged her shapely butt and a pink singlet top, the same top worn by all Rosie’s bar girls.

‘She ain’t no Rosie, Jobs,’ Spence said, leering at her ass. ‘But she’s a darn close second…’

‘She is…’ Jack said. He continued to ogle Rosie’s replacement bar manager.

‘Have you seen Rosie recently?’ Spence asked.

Jack took a sip. He shook his head as he leaned on his elbows. ‘No I haven’t, Spence,’ he said. His tone was a little melancholy. ‘I haven’t seen her much since she opened her second bar uptown…’ He lifted his chin towards Rebecca. ‘Bec said Rosie is concentrating on trying to build that bar up to the same rep as this one, so she spends most nights managing that bar, while Bec looks after this one.’

‘I suspect you getting back with Caitlyn may have had some influence on her decision too, bro.’

Jack nodded. ‘And there’s that…’ He took another sip.

Prior to the death of Jack’s son, Rosie and Jack had become somewhat of an item. They spent most of their free time together.

When Rosie worked and Jack was off, he would often be seen leaning on the bar in his usual corner. He regularly stayed over in Rosie’s apartment above the bar.

But the lure of the strong family tie changed everything when Jack lost Max. He always had strong feelings for Caitlyn, but it was she who left him all those years ago. He assumed that ship had sailed.

It was Caitlyn who at the time, packed up his boys and moved away in search of a more stable home life in Montclair.

Jack had no idea that Caitlyn still loved him. It was his priority of work over family that pushed her away.

It took the passing of Max to drag them back together. Jack spent many days with Caitlyn, where each one drew comfort from the other, as they grieved their tragic loss. Jack became Caitlyn’s rock in her time of need.

Over time, the pilot light of their failed marriage reignited and they decided to try and see if they could re-kindle their marriage.

That was three years ago and they could not be happier. Sure, Jack missed what he had with Rosie. He often thought about her. But that’s where it ended. He had been given a second chance and there was no way he was doing anything to ruin that.

Jack lifted his glass and swirled the contents around. ‘Pity about Matthew Curry…’ he said watching the bourbon roll around inside his glass.

‘It is. But I bet he’s having the time of life holidaying in the Greek Islands, though.’

‘True that,’ Jack said. He emptied his glass. Jack checked his watch. ‘Got another in ya, buddy…?’

‘Why not.’

Jack caught Bec’s eye and signaled another round. Bec quickly grabbed a bottle. ‘I’m so sorry, boys… I got caught serving up the other end,’ she said.

‘Don’t sweat it, darling,’ Jack said. ‘We’re good.’ He watched her pour their refills.

Jack learned from his limited chats with Rosie that she gave Rebecca strict instructions to make sure she looked after Jack and his team.

They were not to pay full price for their drinks and Bec must keep them coming. They were a priority over all other patrons.

Jack resisted Rosie discounting their drinks. ‘You’ve got a business to run and bills to pay,’ he told her. But she wouldn’t have it. She was a strong-willed woman and wouldn’t be swayed when her mind was made up. Jack knew that all too well. It was also one of her endearing features.

Besides, as far as Rosie was concerned, they had a special bond that now continued into a friendship, and Rosie always looked after her friends.

Chapter 8

The night had rolled on. The time nudged at 8pm. Jack and Spence had given it a solid three-hour session. The younger versions of themselves would’ve been proud.

But fifty-seven year old Jack started to feel it. The lack of proper sustenance in his belly, over the junk food snacks Bec served them all night, was taking hold.

‘I don’t know about you, buddy…’ Jack said. His bloodshot eyes flicked to Spence, who was leaning on his elbows, staring blankly into nothing. ‘I’m about done…’

Spence didn’t respond.

‘How’s New York’s finest this evening…?’

Jack shifted his focus to the voice. ‘Frank Galatea…’ Jack said. ‘What brings you into a place like this? Slumming it, are we…?’

Jack had fought many a court room battle with Frank over the years. He never really liked the guy. In fact, Jack didn’t trust lawyers in general. To him, they always had a hidden agenda.

He considered Galatea to be a conceited asshole with a superiority complex, so on any given day, Frank would not be Jack’s choice of people to have a drink with.

Frank gestured with his drink to a group of males to his left. ‘I came in with those guys over there, for a drink…’ Frank said. ‘They’re witnesses in from out of town, for a case we have running. But to be honest… They’re all lightweights. They have a self-imposed limit of two drinks each. Do you believe that soft-cock shit?’

‘Maybe they’re driving…’ Jack offered, although he couldn’t care any less.

‘Let me assure you, Jobs, they’re not driving…’ He took a sip. ‘Fucken light weights.’ He glared back at his party of four. ‘Then I saw you guys… So I thought I’d come and have a drink with someone who knows how to drink.’

‘Actually, we’re just heading out…’ Jack said. ‘We’ve been here since five.’

‘Bullshit,’ Frank snapped. He gestured to one of the barmaids. When she finished pouring a beer, she came over. ‘Set my friends here up with another round of whatever they’re drinking. Put in on my tab, thanks, Sweetheart.’

Frank slid onto a stool beside Jack and Spence. Spence still hadn’t moved from leaning on the bar. He still held a blank stare at nothing.

When the bargirl topped up Jack and Spence’s drinks, Frank lifted his glass in a toast. ‘Cheers, gentlemen,’ he said.

Jack half lifted his glass in a perfunctory response, then took a sip. Spence mumbled ‘cheers’ but didn’t move.

‘Shocking what happened to Judge Davis, wasn’t it?’

‘It was…’ Jack said. His disinterested eyes moved around the crowded bar.

‘The News reported it as a hit…’

‘Come on, Frank… You know I can’t discuss my cases with you…’

‘That’s OK… I was just segueing into some information that you may find useful…’ Frank said.

‘What about…?’ Jack impatiently checked his watch.

‘The murder of Judge Davis.’

‘OK… Can’t wait to hear it…’ He lied.

‘A few weeks back, the judge presided over a sex offence case, someone I know was defending…’

‘Someone you know… Right. OK.’ Jack had all but stopped listening.

‘The defendant was a real piece of work, from what I’ve been told. A real sleazy prick. You know the type. Had a thing for little boys.’

‘So, we’re relying on hearsay evidence now are we, counsellor…?’

‘Well, at least it is a firsthand account…’

Jack sighed. He took a sip, waiting for this to end.

‘My colleague who defended this guy was expecting a guilty finding, especially when he heard Judge Davis had the case…’

‘Where we going with this, Frank…?’ Jack collapsed onto his elbows.

‘The judge threw the case out. To this day, my colleague still doesn’t understand why, but a win’s a win… You know what I’m saying. But apparently the judge tore the prosecuting ADA a new one over the DA’s handling of the case. Humiliated him in front of the whole court room. Questioned his qualifications and everything…’

‘That sounds like Judge Davis…’

‘But here’s the kicker, Jobs. This ADA was so pissed, after the case, he asked if anyone knew a good hit man, because someone had to do society a favor and take this judge out.’

Now he had Jack’s attention. Jack glared at Frank while his words resonated. ‘He openly asked if anyone knew a hitman?’ Jack said as a question.

‘Sure did…’

‘Who did he ask, specifically? Who else heard him say that?’

‘I’m not completely sure. My colleague said he was standing around outside the court room, after the case. I think he said there were two, or three other people in the vicinity.’

‘Did he ask your colleague directly, if he knew anyone…?’

‘No. He fired the comment off generally, then walked off.’

‘So it didn’t appear to be a serious comment? More like a throw away comment by an angry person, after being torn a new one by the judge…?’ Jack said as a question.

‘I don’t think my colleague took it seriously, if that’s what you’re asking. That was, until he saw the judge was killed, execution style, on Saturday. He called me Sunday when he saw the news.’ Frank took a sip to punctuate his comment.

‘Did he report it…?’

‘Don’t believe he did.’

‘Who was the ADA…?’

‘Ahh. Box…’

‘Phil Box…?’

‘That’s him…’

‘Who’s this colleague then…?’

Frank grinned. ‘You know I’m not going to give you his name, Jobs,’ Frank said. ‘I’m happy to pass on the information, but that’s all.’

‘Court records will show defense counsel for the case, Frank…’ Jack said, in a “you should know that” tone. Frank shrugged and took a sip.

Jack’s focus shifted to Spence, mainly to gauge if Spence was registering any of this. He wasn’t. Spence’s bloodshot eyes still held a blank stare into nothing.

‘I wouldn’t pick Boxy as the hitman type. But thanks for the information, Frank. I’ll have a look into it.’

‘Happy to help, Jobs.’

Jack emptied his glass. ‘Thanks for the drink, but I gotta get this guy into a cab and I gotta get home… Big day tomorrow.’ Jack waved to Bec. When she approached, Jack said, ‘can you get my friend here another of what he’s drinking and put it on my tab thanks, Bec… We’re about to head off.’

Jack assisted Spence as they navigated the heavily populated bar room, to the front door. He poured Spence into one waiting cab out the front, gave the driver the address, then he took the next cab in line.

The time of night wasn’t particularly late, but it had been a big session, their first for some time.

Chapter 9

While Jack and Spence kicked up their heels at Rosie’s, over in lower Manhattan, across the East River in Williamsburg, Marcus Goodfellow enjoyed a quiet night in with Brutus, his faithful little hairless Chinese Crested, which was how he spent most evenings.

The only exception being Saturday and Wednesday nights when he hosted his parties.

The time of the evening approached dinner time. The school principal sipped on a glass of red, while he made himself a dinner of gnocchi with a pomodoro sauce. Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons filled his spacious apartment with classical tones to cook by.

Brutus, loyal as ever, curled up on the kitchen floor, at his feet.

When it was done, Marcus dished up a serving of gnocchi, spooned over the sauce and then carried his plate and glass of red to his dining table. Brutus followed and curled up at his feet.

His mouth watered with expectation, but before he could savor the first taste, his front doorbell buzzed.

‘Really…’ he groaned. He quickly shoveled in a fork full of gnocchi, wiped his mouth with a napkin as he pushed himself from his seat. He dropped the napkin onto the table and made his way to the wall mounted video intercom in his kitchen and examined the video screen.

A male person, wearing dark clothing and a dark baseball cap stood facing the intercom, with his back to the camera, mounted off to the side of the doorway. The cap made it difficult to make out any familiar features.

Marcus pressed a button. ‘Yes…’

‘Love the world with the readiness of children,’ the voice of the unidentified person at the door crackled back over the intercom.

Marcus’ face tightened. He frowned heavily. ‘What did you just say…?’

‘Love the world with the readiness of children,’ the visitor repeated.

Marcus squinted at the screen, trying to recognize this visitor.

‘Do I know you…?’

‘We’ve never met…’

‘You’re a little late, I’m afraid. That party was last Saturday. Why are you here…?’

‘To discuss Judge Davis…’

‘What about him…?’

Marcus watched as the visitor checked his surrounds. ‘Not here… Not over the intercom. You understand…’

Marcus rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘Where did you get that phrase from that you just said…?’

‘Sent by email…’ The visitor nervously continued to check the nearby street. ‘Please … Open up… You need to hear this.’

‘I’d rather you tell me over this intercom…’

The visitor moved closer to the intercom and spoke in a lower voice. ‘The police are getting closer to working out where the judge was heading when he was shot. Look, I have something about the judge you need to hear… But not over this thing.’

While Marcus contemplated his options, the visitor continued. ‘Look, if you want to take a chance, that’s up to you. Just remember, I tried to warn you.’ He waved the back of his hand at the intercom and moved towards the street.

Marcus leaned on the button. ‘Wait…’ The visitor stepped back into camera view, still with his back to the camera. ‘I’ll be right down.’

His mind raced as he descended his stairs to the front door. What information could this person possibly have that involved him…?

Marcus slowly opened the front door. He was confronted by his visitor dressed in all black clothing and a black baseball cap.

The low worn peak concealed most of the person’s features.

The principal checked the street and surrounds, then beckoned the visitor inside. Following a further check of the area, he quickly stepped inside and closed the door.

When he turned to face his visitor, he stared straight down the barrel of a silenced pistol, inches from his face. Marcus’ eyes widened. His pupils were like little islands on a white sea. ‘What’s going on…? You said you had something to tell me about the judge…’

‘I do…’ The visitor said. ‘He was a piece of shit. And so are you.’ The visitor fired twice in quick succession. Both rounds smacked into Marcus’ chest. The impact forced him back. He hit the door and slid down to the floor.

The visitor aimed and fired one last shot, hitting Marcus between the eyes. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the door.

After using a foot to push Marcus’ body away from in front of the door, the visitor calmly exited and moved down the stoop onto Carter Place, then disappeared into the darkness.

---

Around thirty minutes, or so later, while Brutus sniffed and licked at the fluids slowly evacuating the principal’s body, Seamus O’Brien sat at the kitchen bench in his Greenwich Village apartment, enjoying his third scotch.

While he did so, he contemplated what he would have for dinner. Or more appropriately, what UBER Eats could bring him for dinner.

He scrolled through the restaurant options on his cell’s web browser when his front door intercom buzzed.

Seamus’ ten story apartment building didn’t have the luxury of front door video cameras, but it had the necessary security to prevent unauthorized access to the elevators.

Each apartment in his building had its own numbered intercom doorbell at street level for visitor access.

He checked his watch as he moved to answer the call. He pressed a button on the wall-mounted intercom. ‘Yes…’

‘Is that Seamus O’Brien…?’ A female voice crackled over the outdated technology.

‘Who’s asking…?’

‘My name is Macy Burns. I’m a journalist with the New York Times. I’m doing a piece on the recent death of Judge Davis and I was hoping to have a chat to you about some of the cases you’ve had, who appeared before that judge.’

Seamus took a sip of his scotch. He leaned on the button. ‘You know I can’t discuss my cases with you… Attorney-client privilege, and all… I’m sure you’ve heard of it.’ His tone was intentionally condescending.

‘Yes of course. But I’m not after specifics of cases that aren’t already in the public domain. I was more interested in the case of Adrian Harker, which the judge recently threw out…’

‘How’d you get this address…?’

‘I’m a journalist, Seamus… That’s what I do.’

Seamus watched the contents of his glass as he swirled it around, while he considered the proposal.

‘Are you still there…?’ The visitor asked.

‘I am…’

‘Look. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. Have you eaten? How about this. Maybe I can buy you dinner, while we chat…’

Whether it was the three scotches affecting his cognition, or the lure of a free feed, either way, Seamus decided, what the hell. It couldn’t hurt.

He pressed the door lock release. An electronic buzz sounded. ‘Fourth floor… Apartment fourteen…’ He announced into the intercom.

Seamus drained his glass then poured himself another scotch, while he waited for his journalist visitor to arrive and buy him dinner.

Typical of most lawyers and their egos, he was also a little excited by the prospect of being quoted in the New York Times.

‘How long does it take to catch an elevator to the 4th floor, for chrissakes,’ he moaned to himself. He impatiently checked his watch. A gentle knock came from his front door.

Seamus approached the door and peered through his door peep hole. The darkness of the pistol barrel pressed against his peep hole would’ve been the last thing he saw, before a nine-mill round entered through his eye and carried the back of his skull, and parts of his brain, across the room.

Seamus’ lifeless body hit the floor with a resounding thud. It was confirmation enough the nine-mill found its target.

Chapter 10

It was a little after 8am the next morning when Jack emerged from his office, into the bull pen. He leaned a shoulder on the door surrounds while he scanned the near empty room.

The homicide squad’s bull pen was an open plan rectangular office. Eight desks, each housing a flat screen computer monitor, were all arranged into four work stations, evenly spaced down each side of the room.

Jack checked his watch. Pete Unly was the only other team member in at that time of the morning, despite their work day starting at 8am.

‘How are you going with gathering a list of the judge’s court cases…?’

‘Good, Jobs… I’ve got a list of most of them.’ He held up a note pad.

‘Is there one on your list where the judge recently threw a case out…?’

‘There’s a few of those… Do you have a name?’

‘I don’t. But I understand it was a sex offender trial.’

‘Ah, yes…’ Unly said. ‘The pedophile.’ He checked his list. Flipped over a page and kept checking. Two-thirds of the way down he tapped the page. ‘There it is… Two weeks ago the judge presided over the case of thirty-two-year-old, Adrian Harker, charged with indecent assault of a minor and grooming a minor for sex.’

‘The judge threw it out…?’ Jack said as a question.

‘He did.’

‘Who was the DA prosecuting that one?’

Pete checked his list. ‘Ahh… The prosecutor was ADA Philip Box.’

‘That’s the one…’ Jack said.

‘What was the name of the defense counsel…?’

Pete checked his list. ‘The defense lawyer was, Seamus O’Brien.’

‘Don’t know him… Do You?’

Unly shook his head. ‘Can’t picture him… Is he that little Irish guy…?’

‘The name sounds Irish, but…’ Jack shrugged.

Jack’s focus shifted to Spence wandering into the office, wearing dark sunglasses. ‘Morning…’ Jack said. He glanced up at the wall clock.

‘Morning.’ Spence grunted as he moved to his desk. ‘Sorry I’m late… Slept through the alarm.’

‘Bit bright in the office for you…?’ Jack asked knowingly. ‘Or are you starting a new trend with this wearing sunglasses inside, shit…?’

Spence dumped his property into a drawer. He squinted when he slipped off his sunglasses. ‘How many did we end up having last night, Jobs…?’

Jack grinned; a rare sight for those who knew him. ‘Wasn’t keeping count,’ he said.

‘I’m getting too old for this, Jobs…’

Spence’s usual jovial expression that usually presented a healthy rosy hue, was now pallid. It highlighted the dark rings under his eyes.

‘Do you remember our conversation last night with Frank Galatea?’ Jack asked Spence.

‘No… Not really. Was that piece of shit there…?’

Spence’s lack of recall brought another rare grin to Jack’s face. He was certainly mellowing with age. ‘I suggest you step into my office and I will update you.’

Jack returned to his office. Spence followed behind and slumped into the visitor chair at Jack’s desk. ‘What shit did Galatea have to say…?’

‘Apparently a colleague of his was defending a sex offender in front of Judge Davis…’ Spence yawned. ‘I’m not keeping you up, am I?’

‘Sorry, Jobs… I don’t bounce back like I used to.’

‘You and me both, buddy. Anyway… Judge Davis threw the case out and apparently tore the DA a new one over the poor quality of their handling and preparation.’

Spence’s mouth inverted. ‘Really?’

‘Apparently, after the case… Outside the court room, the prosecutor involved, asked if anyone knew a good hitman because someone had to do society a favor and take this judge out.’

‘Surely he was just venting after copping a serve from the judge…’

‘That’s what I thought… But it’s hard to ignore now, when we suspect the judge was a targeted hit.’

Spence scratched his head. ‘Is Galatea reliable enough to put any weight on his comments…?’

‘Ordinarily I’d say no… He’s a drunk… But with the judge’s murder… there could be something in it.’

‘Who was this careless DA with the big mouth…?’

‘Philip Box.’

Spence’s eyebrows arched. ‘ADA Phil Box is supposed to have arranged a hit on the judge…?’ he said as a cynical question.

‘Apparently…’

Spence shook a disbelieving head. ‘He’d have to be one of the straightest guys I know. It’s either black, or its white with him.’

Jack’s warbling desk phone interrupted their update session. Jack checked the number displayed. He rolled his eyes.

‘Gnome…?’ Spence predicted.

Jack nodded once as he lifted the handset.

‘Chief… I’m good… Ah, it’s moving slowly. We’ve got some leads, but nothing solid at this stage… Yes, I’m aware it’s a high-profile case.’ He rolled his eyes at Spence. ‘But—Aha… Aha… Look. Let me cut you off there. I’m in a meeting at the moment. When I’m done here, I’ll come up and update you on where we’re at, OK… Right.’ Jack dumped the handset. He took a deep breath to compose himself.

When Jack and the gnome worked together in homicide, the gnome was a reliable and trustworthy partner. Despite his diminutive stature, he never took any shit.

He was not averse to heavy handed tactics with crooks and suspects. He subscribed to the theory of the end justified means. “Whatever it took,” he used to say. In fact, it became their team slogan.

He and Jack were a fierce team. Both were tough, relentless cops. But that all changed when Johnson was promoted to Captain.

Now everything must be by the book. He would not stand for rule bending and would not, under any circumstances, protect anyone who stepped outside the boundaries. He made it clear, you were on your own, if you did. Yet he still demanded the same results he and Jack achieved using their effective ‘Dirty Harry’ methods.

Consequently, to Jack, the gnome was a hypocrite with a career agenda and he had no time for him.

‘OK…’ He shook his head at the gnome’s call. ‘How clear is the CCTV footage from the night of the shooting…?’ Jack asked.

‘Very clear, where there is sufficient lighting.’

Jack rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘You know how offenders often return to the scene to watch events unfolding…?’

‘You want me to review all the footage to see if I can find Phil Box anywhere in the crowd of onlookers…?’

‘Yep. Right now he is our only lead.’

Spence grunted as he stood from his chair. ‘And a weak one at that.’

‘I know…’ Jack flicked a finger at the desk phone. ‘But I gotta keep the wolves at bay… I gotta give him something to shut him up…’

‘Understand. It’s the last thing I want to do with this hangover… But, I’ll have a look over the footage, so we can tick that off our list. First thing, though… I’m getting a coffee. Want one?’

‘No. I’m good. I’m going up to see His Highness on the fourth floor…’

---

Jack returned to the bull pen, around thirty minutes later. He still fumed from the reaming he received from the gnome.

The short walk and the elevator ride back to his office did nothing to calm his rage. If anything, the alone time to think and reflect only caused him further anger.

As far as the gnome was concerned, Jack and his team weren’t doing enough. A high-profile, well respected judge was murdered, execution style, and the mayor demanded a speedy resolution. The public needed reassuring they were safe in the knowledge that the police had this under control.

Jack had heard it all before. It was the same tune sung from the same song book, for every high-profile case.

The Gnome even went with the old line, ‘If you don’t think you’re up to this Jack… Then I can put someone else on the case, who is….’

Jack stormed through the Bull Pen to his office. He failed to make eye contact with anyone. All he wanted to do was retreat to the sanctuary of his office, to calm down.

‘Another inspirational chat from our number one motivator…’ Spence said, dripping with obvious sarcasm.

Jack shook his head as he continued into his office. He slumped into his chair and leaned on his hands.

‘Hey, Jobs…’ Spence yelled out from his desk. ‘When we eventually catch this hitman… D’ya want me to see if I can arrange for him to visit the fourth floor, for ya…?’

Spence couldn’t see Jack from his desk, but Spence’s humor was what Jack needed right now. A grin even emerged out the side of the big man’s face.

While Spence continued with his reviews, Jack re-visited the judge’s lap top looking for anything that may provide a lead.

There was an abundance of photos, mostly of scenery and buildings, which all meant nothing to Jack. So he kept coming back to the emails with the unusual sentence the judge received every Friday. They had to mean something to the case, but what?

Jack printed out each sentence, all six of them, in large font on a letter-sized page and attached them to the whiteboard.

He stood back admiring his work. ‘Hey, Jobs….’ Spence yelled. ‘Ya gonna wanna see this…’