J. Jance - Without Due Process

One of the last officers to arrive on the scene was Captain Anthony Freeman. He spoke first to Peters and me, then he asked Ron to introduce him to Knuckles Russell.

“I’m Captain Freeman from Internal Investigations,” Tony Freeman told him, shaking hands. “Thanks for all your help, Ezra. We’ve got them now. Sue Danielson is down at the office working with Gary Deddens right now. He’s waived his right to an attorney. He’s spilling his guts.”

“You shoulda caught him sooner,” Knuckles said accusingly. “Then Ben Weston wouldn’t be dead.”

“You’re right. Ben was almost ready to move on this. From looking at the file, I can see what he was doing. Ben didn’t want to do anything until he had enough corroborating evidence that he wouldn’t have to call you or any of the others back to testify. Even though he had gleaned much of his information from you, he didn’t want you to be involved.”

A jet took off in the background. No one said anything for a moment while Knuckles Russell’s eyes filled with tears.

“You mean Ben’s dead ‘cause he was protectin’ me?”

Tony Freeman nodded. “You and the others,” he said.

“Shit, man!” Ezra muttered fiercely. “Shit!”

He walked away from us to the far side of the garage, where he stood hunched and withdrawn, looking down at the traffic below. No one followed him. At that moment, Knuckles Russell needed nothing so much as to be left alone.

I turned back to Captain Freeman. “So how much more cancer is there?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not much I hope, but I don’t know, not for sure. Like I said. Deddens is spilling his guts, hoping it’ll go easier on him. If anyone else is involved, he’ll tell us. Turns out he’s the one who placed the call to nine-one-one, hoping to create enough confusion over the massacre that Curtis Bell would have a chance to get into Ben’s office computer undetected and do the deleting. From the looks of the files, Ben was within minutes of bringing me the case. Unfortunately, I was out of town.”

“So the deletion almost worked, didn’t it,” I said.

Freeman nodded. “It might have. If Kyle hadn’t managed to bring those files back up when he did, they could have been written over and lost for good. But we’ve got it now. Gary Deddens can squeal all he wants, but I’ve got some bad news for him and Curtis Bell as well. I’m going to convince the prosecutor to go for aggravated first degree for both of them, not only for murdering the Westons but also their pal Sam Irwin.”

“They wanted us to turn him into the fall guy, didn’t they?”

“Yes, but by then they were panicked and it didn’t work. Those two bastards may figure out a way to wiggle out of the death penalty, but they’ll never be out on the streets again, either one of them. I’ll see to it.”

Without our noticing, Knuckles Russell had returned from the other side of the garage and was hovering just outside our circle of conversation. Captain Freeman stepped aside and motioned for him to join us.

“Did you need something?” Freeman asked.

For several seconds the two men stood facing each other, their eyes locked in an unblinking stare-the tall balding white man with his red bottlebrush mustache and the much younger black one.

“Ben Weston tol‘ me once that a One-Time named Freeman was all right. I can see that be…that’s true.”

It was a moment of understanding that cut both ways. Freeman nodded. “Ben had a lot of faith in you, too, Ezra. We were on the right track, but it’s possible Curtis Bell might have gotten away if you hadn’t come forward when you did.”

“I din’t come forward on my own,” Knuckles said, shaking his head. “But for him,” he added, pointing a finger at Ron Peters, “I’d still be in Ellensburg.”

Tony looked from Ron to me and back again. “Detective Beaumont, I thought I told you specifically not to add any additional personnel to this investigation without my express permission.”

“Excuse me, Captain Freeman,” Peters interrupted. “I put myself on the case, long before Beau had any idea Internal Investigations would be involved.”

“Why? Don’t you work in Media Relations?”

“That’s my job,” Peters conceded, “but what I do on my own time is my business.”

“Including tearing hell out of your own car in the process of apprehending a fleeing felon?”

“That too.”

Peters and I both stood there waiting for what we figured was an inevitable chewing out. Instead, Captain Freeman nodded. “I see,” he said. “Why don’t you come talk to me next week some time, Officer Peters. I might have a place in IIS for someone as motivated as you. Seems to me you’re wasting your time in Media Relations.”

“You name the time,” Ron Peters said. “I’ll be there.”

Freeman turned back to Knuckles. “Where are you going to be staying tonight, Ezra? And how can I get in touch with you once you get back over to Ellensburg? Questions may come up that we’ll need you to answer.”

Knuckles shrugged. “I dunno about staying here. The Disciples still wants my ass.”

“He can stay with me tonight,” I offered. “With Junior and Ralph Ames there, too, it may be a little crowded, but we’ll manage.”

It was beginning to feel as though I was running a hotel. “Good,” Freeman said, accepting my answer at face value. “Now. How are you all getting back to town? Should I make arrangements for rides?”

“I called my wife, Amy,” Ron told him. “She’s bringing the van. There’ll be plenty of room.”

By the time we finished giving statements to everyone who needed them, Amy Peters had arrived. Afterward, she gave us all a ride back to Belltown Terrace.

“Ralph said we’re invited for dinner,” she told me as we drove into the parking garage. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Actually, I did. I was once more running out of steam-I just can’t seem to go without sleep the way I used to. Besides that, my feet were killing me. But if Ralph was doing the cooking, all that would be required of me was to hold up my head long enough to eat.

Knuckles looked at me suspiciously as I held the door for him to go into my apartment. “How come a cop gets to live like this?”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I inherited it. On what I make, I could barely afford the bottom floor in this place.”

The house smelled of garlic and roasting chickens and something else, something exquisite, that turned out to be homemade bread. Once inside the apartment, I expected to hear the clattering din of a video game, but the house was quiet. I introduced Ralph to Knuckles Russell, explaining that he was a friend of Ben Weston’s and that he needed a place to spend the night.

“Where are the kids?” I asked.

“The girls are down swimming. Junior hasn’t come back from the funeral yet, although I expect them any minute. Emma Jackson called to say they’d be by in a few minutes to pick up Junior’s things.”

“Where’s Dr. Jackson taking him, back to West Seattle to his grandfather’s?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Ralph asked. “Evidently Ben and Shiree Weston named her as legal guardian if anything ever happened to both of them. Emma said they’d come by for the Nintendo on the way. They’re going to take some time off. She says she’s taking him to the coast for a few days so they can get used to the idea of living together.”

The telephone rang and I answered it. “It’s Emma,” a voice said from downstairs. “Junior said he knew the door code, but I thought we should call and let you know we’re here.”

“Come on up,” I said, buzzing them in.

When I opened the door into the hallway, there were three people waiting there-Emma Jackson and Carl Johnson, that uncommonly tall principal from McClure Middle School. He was holding a worn-out and half-dozing Junior Weston cradled gently in his arms. Junior in turn was holding tight to his teddy bear.