For Better or Worse Read online

  John Bekker Mystery Series

  Sunset

  Sunrise

  First Light

  This Side of Midnight

  With Six You Get Wally

  Who Killed Joe Italiano?

  For Better or Worse

  A John Bekker Mystery

  Al Lamanda

  Encircle Publications, LLC

  Farmington, Maine U.S.A.

  For Better or Worse Copyright © 2018 Al Lamanda

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-64599-007-9

  E-book ISBN-13: 978-1-64599-008-6

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-64599-009-3

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-64599-010-9

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher, Encircle Publications, Farmington, ME.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual places or businesses, is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Cynthia Brackett-Vincent

  Book design: Eddie Vincent

  Cover design: Deirdre Wait

  Cover images © Getty Images

  Published by: Encircle Publications, LLC

  PO Box 187

  Farmington, ME 04938

  Visit: http://encirclepub.com

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  Chapter One

  The eight-ounce ankle weights I wore felt like eight pounds after thirty minutes of jogging along the shoreline at the beach.

  The late afternoon sun was low and warm in the sky. I checked my watch and at the thirty-minute mark, I turned around and headed back. With around a hundred yards to go, I slowed my pace to a walk and allowed my daughter Regan’s dog to run to me and escort me home.

  He’s a little pug with the energy of a freight train and if his little legs could keep up, he’d run the entire way with me.

  We reached home, or what used to be, a thirty-year-old, somewhat seedy trailer set back about a hundred yards from the ocean.

  I purchased it about fifteen years ago after my wife was murdered by the very criminals I was investigating. They broke into my home, murdered my wife and by some miracle, overlooked my five-year-old daughter, who was hiding in a closet.

  The end result of that was a decade long drinking binge during which time I lost everything. My house, my job as a police detective, and my daughter. While I was off drinking, she was existing in a special hospital for traumatized children.

  The bank took the house, the city took my job, the hospital took my daughter, and I would have been homeless on the street if my wife’s sister, Janet, hadn’t stepped in and taken control of the situation.

  Maybe thirty years ago, this section of beach was deemed worthless because of rocks and waves too strong for any but the die-hard surfer. Some developer pitched an idea to the town council. He wanted to sell mobile-style homes to surfers as timeshares. Twenty were placed along this stretch of beach and sold for a hundred thousand each. The town council got greased by the developer, and the town collected a hundred thousand in property taxes every year.

  By the time I was sucking down a quart of scotch every day, the surfing crowd had moved on to greener pastures and more exciting waves, and Janet was able to buy a trailer for me using my pension fund.

  And thank God that she did.

  A few years after I moved in, there were just two trailers left on the beach. Mine and one a hundred yards or so to the right belonging to an elderly black man named Oz.

  Oz had his own problems to cope with, and we coped together just about every night by drinking until we passed out cold.

  Salvation came from the oddest of places. The very mobster I was investigating and who I believed was responsible for my wife’s murder had me kidnapped and cleaned up and then hired me to find my wife’s murderer.

  His name was Eddie Crist and he was dying of cancer and didn’t want to check out without knowing who was behind it all.

  The short of it was that I exposed the corrupt cops in the department that cleared Crist just weeks before he died, and I got my life back, somewhat.

  Working as a private investigator to supplement my police pension, I was able to buy a home a few miles up the beach that has a view but no access to the water. Regan is nineteen now and lives with me.

  So does Oz, as he is family.

  I kept the trailer and use it as an office.

  But that, too, is about to change.

  Another developer sold an idea to the town council. Beachfront condos. I was given sixty days to remove the trailer or they would do it for me. The notice came a week ago by registered mail.

  When I reached the trailer, Oz and Regan were sitting in beach chairs. Molly, our cat, jumped down from Regan’s lap to play tag with the pug, who Regan named Cuddles.

  “Dad, can they really take the trailer away from us?” Regan said.

  “They can and they will,” I said. “But they’ll have to buy us out first.”

  “But, dad, how can they…?” Regan said.

  “Everything changes, honey,” I said. “Some changes we like, some we don’t, but nothing ever stands still.”

  Fed up with the pug, Molly jumped onto Oz’s lap.

  “We change, everything change along with us,” Oz said as Molly rubbed her ears against his stomach.

  Oz tended to speak in short, truncated sentences, but he was smart as a whip and had a dry sense of humor.

  “Well, when are we going for breakfast?” Regan said.

  “As soon as Jane and your Uncle Walt get here,” I said.

  On the side of the trailer is an old suspended heavy bag and a pair of elevated push-up bars. I went around, slipped on my twenty-year-old bag gloves and went to work on the bag.

  I got in fifteen minutes on the bag and several sets of push-ups before Walt arrived.

  I heard him say, “Where’s the ugly one?”

  “Follow the grunts and groans to the pot of gold,” Oz said.

  I was just standing up when Walt walked over to me.

  “Don’t you ever get sick of sweating?” he said.

  “A little exercise wouldn’t hurt that gut of yours,” I said.

  Walt grabbed the roll around his middle. “This is fun fat,” he said. “The reason you don’t have any is you never have any fun.”

  “Grab a cup of coffee while I take a quick shower,” I said.

  When I emerged from the trailer, showered and changed, Sheriff Jane Morgan had arrived and was seated next to Oz.

  “Sorry about the trailer,” Jane said. “I made a few calls. The town council won’t budge when they smell found money.”

  Jane Morgan has been the county sheriff for over a decade. She’s north of forty-five, blonde, and has been described as Marylyn Monroe in a sheriff’s uniform. We’ve known each other for twenty years, but only recently became an item. It was her day off and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt, which did little to hide her ample figure.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

  ”Who pays?” Walt said.

  We converged on a large diner a few blocks from the beach. We left the pets in the trailer with the promise of bacon as a reward.

  Oz ordered an omel
et with bacon, hash browns, and buttered toast, and Regan had a fit just short of a meltdown.

  Three months ago, Oz suffered a minor heart attack. Doctors cleared a blockage from an artery and he was home within forty-eight hours. His most recent checkup was a week ago and he was given a clean bill of health, which is amazing when you consider how much we drank over a decade.

  Regan forced Oz to settle for a virgin omelet and turkey bacon.

  “Girl, even the cat won’t eat no turkey bacon,” Oz said.

  The conversation turned to Walt’s retirement.

  “Twenty-nine days and a wakeup,” Walt said.

  “And then?” Jane asked.

  “Elizabeth has a two-week cruise planned to the Caribbean,” Walt said.

  “And then?” Jane said.

  “I don’t know,” Walt said. “I’m too young to sit around watching game shows all day. Maybe a corporate security job if I can find one.”

  “Why can’t you partner up with Jack?” Jane said.

  “Get real, Jane,” Walt said. “After thirty years on the job, do you think I want to start all over again with Dick Tracy here?”

  “Actually, Walt, that’s not a bad idea,” I said. “You work for who you want to work for, when you want and the pay is pretty good.”

  Walt looked at me. “I’ll give it some thought,” he said.

  After breakfast, Walt drove to the police station, while the rest of us returned to the beach.

  Oz was correct, the cat turned her nose up at the turkey bacon, but the pug wolfed it down.

  Jane, Regan and I changed into bathing suits, rode the waves for a bit, and relaxed in the sun.

  Oz took a nap in his chair with Molly on his lap.

  It was one of those perfect summer days that you wished could last forever.

  It is amazing how things can change on a dime.

  Chapter Two

  When I bought the house, I made sure I looked for one with three bedrooms, a finished basement, a decent sized backyard with a fence, and a view of the ocean from the second floor.

  The basement became my working office and the backyard my gym. I had a heavy bag/speed bag combo on a tripod, elevated push-up bars, a pull-up rack, a bench with a row of dumbbells, and several types of jump ropes.

  I was working the heavy bag after breakfast when Regan came outside with my cell phone.

  “Jane,” Regan said. “She sounds upset.”

  I took the phone. “Jane?”

  “Quit punching shit and get down here right away,” Jane said.

  “‘Here’ being?”

  “County lockup, asshole, where else?” Jane said. “And hurry.”

  “Why?”

  “Walt has been arrested and is waiting arraignment,” Jane said.

  * * *

  By the time I reached the county jail where Walt was being held, he had been transported to the courthouse for arraignment.

  Jane was out front, standing beside her cruiser.

  I parked, got out and got in, and before I could buckle the seat belt, she had slammed down on the gas.

  She hit the lights, lit a cigarette and said, “They raided his house at six this morning.”

  “Who?”

  “I.A.D.,” Jane said. “And a dozen members of SWAT from another precinct.”

  “A dozen? What did they charge him with?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Jane said. “I guess we’ll find out at the arraignment.”

  “They arrested him at his home, transported him to the county jail, and didn’t tell you why?” I said.

  “I wasn’t even there yet,” Jane said. “And they didn’t tell my deputies.”

  “Traffic, Jane. Hit the wailer,” I said.

  Jane hit the wailer and traffic parted.

  “Fucking move,” Jane snarled as she exhaled smoke through her nose.

  “Walt is the most honest man I know,” I said. “What could I.A.D. have on him that they raided his house at dawn?”

  Jane glanced at me. “He was in his fucking pajamas for God’s sake.”

  “Step on it, let’s go,” I said.

  “You want me to drive on the sidewalk?” Jane said.

  “You can ride on a magic carpet, just get us there,” I said.

  Jane got us there. She parked in the area reserved for police vehicles, and then we raced up the courthouse steps and entered the courthouse.

  Elizabeth, Walt’s wife of thirty-two years, was sitting on a bench outside the arraignment courtroom, holding a brown shopping bag on her lap.

  She jumped to her feet when she spotted us walking toward her.

  “Jack, Sheriff Morgan, I don’t know what to say,” Elizabeth said.

  “When is he being arraigned?” I said.

  “Not for an hour,” Elizabeth said.

  I took Elizabeth’s arm and guided us to the cafeteria down the hall. I got three coffees and we found a table.

  “Tell us everything,” I said.

  Elizabeth’s hands shook a bit as she took a sip of coffee. “At six this morning, they smashed in the front door with one of those battering rams,” she said. “They said it’s because Walt has guns in the house. They had a warrant.”

  “What did it say, the warrant?” I said.

  “I don’t know. Something about the right to search the house,” Elizabeth said. “I only glanced at it.”

  “When they arrested Walt, what were the charges?” I said.

  “Something about extortion, criminal activity, bribery,” Elizabeth said as she held back tears. “It happened so fast, I don’t remember much. I’m sorry.”

  “Did they take anything from the house?” I said.

  “From the garage,” Elizabeth said. “A box they said had fifty thousand dollars in it.”

  “A box? What kind of box?” I said.

  “Like a strong box,” Elizabeth said.

  “Have you ever seen it before?” I said.

  “No.”

  “What’s in the shopping bag?”

  “Clothes,” Elizabeth said. “They took him out in his pajamas.”

  “Do you know who his lawyer is?” I said.

  Elizabeth shook her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face creased with worry lines. “I don’t know a damn thing, Jack. Not a goddamn thing.”

  I looked at Jane. “See what you can find out,” I said.

  Jane stood up. “I’ll meet you in the courtroom,” she said.

  After Jane left, I said, “Elizabeth, did you see the fifty thousand in the strong box?”

  She nodded. Then the tears began to flow.

  “Liz,” I said. “I know this is hard, but you have to pull yourself together and be strong. All the tears in the world won’t help Walt right now.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Give me a minute,” she said.

  * * *

  Jane was on a bench outside the courtroom with Walt’s union appointed lawyer. He was young, still in his thirties. He stood up when Elizabeth and I arrived.

  “I’m Harry Kane, Mr. Grimes’s lawyer,” he said.

  “How old are you?” I said.

  “Thirty-six. Why?” Harry said.

  “It speaks to experience,” I said.

  “I’ve been with the department five years,” Harry said. “I assure you I wouldn’t have been assigned to this case had I not been qualified.”

  “What are the charges?” I said.

  “Bribery, extortion, racketeering, conspiring with known mobsters, and money laundering,” Harry said.

  “What is the evidence?” I said.

  “Fifty thousand found in the garage and six hundred thousand in a safe deposit box in the Cayman Islands,” Harry said.

  “We’ve never been to the Cayman Islands,” Elizabet
h said. “Walt’s passport expired ten years ago. I’ve been after him to renew it so we could take a cruise after his retirement.”

  “The FBI traveled to the Cayman Islands and found the safety deposit box with six hundred thousand dollars in it under Captain Grimes’s name,” Harry said. “The bank identified him by photograph, and the signature on the account paperwork is a match.”

  “That’s impossible,” Elizabeth said. “I would know if Walt went to the Cayman Islands, for God’s sake.”

  “I have to go in,” Harry said. “He’s up next.”

  Jane and Elizabeth followed me inside the courtroom and we sat directly behind Walt and Harry.

  I looked at the ADA as he and Harry and Walt approached the bench. He wasn’t the normal second-stringer usually sent for an arraignment hearing, but rather, the senior Assistant District Attorney.

  “How does the defendant plead?” the judge said.

  “Not guilty,” Walt said.

  “Your honor, the People request five hundred thousand dollars bail,” the ADA said.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Harry said. “Your honor, this is Captain Walter…”

  “I know who he is,” the judge said.

  “Then you know that five hundred thousand is a ridiculous amount for bail,” Harry said.

  “Don’t tell me what I know, councilor,” the judge said. “Bail is set at a half million. Next case.”

  As the court officers whisked Walt away, Harry turned and looked at Elizabeth. “Would you come with me to talk to Walt?”

  “We’ll all go,” I said.

  “Are you family?” Harry asked.

  “More than you’ll ever know,” Elizabeth said.

  Chapter Three

  Walt sat next to Elizabeth at the table in the interrogation room at the county jail. I sat next to Harry.

  Because of her status as County Sheriff, Jane waited outside.

  “Before I can prepare an adequate defense, I need to know everything,” Harry said. “Good or bad or indifferent, but everything.”

  “Oh, God help me if you’re the best I can do,” Walt said.

  “Captain Grimes, insulting me is not going to help your case,” Harry said.

  “What fucking case?” Walt exploded. “There is no case, you twit. Don’t you see this is a set up from the get-go?”