Tom Wallace - Gnosis

“Who found the body?” Dantzler asked.

“Couple of executive types arrived back from a business meeting in Houston,” Bird answered. “Their car was parked next to this piece of shit Jetta. One of the guys noticed blood pooled beneath the trunk. He reported it to the lady at the front desk. She phoned us. Officers Bradley and Cline were first on the scene. They popped the trunk, found Johnny-boy.”

“Who do you think did this?” Laurie said.

“Believe me, we’ll never know the answer to that one,” Bird answered. “And you know what? I don’t give a shit. This murder has been on hold for more than thirty years. It was destined to happen sooner or later. Somebody got even, that’s all I can tell you. Old debts were collected. And with the enemies Richards made over the years, the crowd he ran with, there’s no way we’ll ever know who pulled the trigger.”

“But Richards was a pro,” Laurie reminded. “He was clever enough to stay alive all these years despite having a target pinned on him. I can’t help but wonder how he ended up like this. I mean, who could have outsmarted him?”

“Someone he trusted,” Dantzler said. “Someone with a private plane. Richards contacted the person, asked him to fly in and pick him up. Once the plane showed up, Richards would have instructed the man to fly him wherever he felt safe enough to live. But… he got a bullet rather than a boarding pass.”

“How did the shooter get Richards into the car?” Laurie asked.

“Easy,” Dantzler replied. “He tells Richards the plane needs to be refueled, or he needs to grab a bite to eat. Something believable. Richards agrees. Remember, he trusts this person. At some point, the guy pulls a gun on Richards, orders him to drive to some deserted place, ties him up, puts him in the trunk, and shoots him. He drives back here, parks, gets in his plane, and flies home. Execution accomplished.”

“The moral of this lesson is be careful who you trust,” Bird said, adding, “but whoever the shooter was, he has my sincerest thanks.”

Laurie said, “If ballistics can match the forty-four we found in Richards’s Lexus with the slug that killed Colt Rogers, then that should bring down the curtain on at least one of these last two murders.”

“You found a forty-four?” Bird said. “It’ll match. You can take that to the bank.”

Dantzler stepped away from Laurie and Bird, took out his cell phone, and punched in Kirk Foster’s number. Kirk answered immediately.

“Call your boss and have him signed the proper papers,” Dantzler said. “It’s time to bring Eli home.”

After Dantzler put his phone away, Bird approached him, a stern look on his face. “You’re jumping ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Jack? Way I see it we only solved the Rogers murder. That’s it. We can’t be certain Richards killed Devon Fraley, although there is a high probability he did. But nothing has changed regarding Eli. His prints are still on the gun used to commit those murders in ’eighty-two. The bottom line is, we don’t have the answers to who killed those two kids in the barn, answers we need in order to prove Eli’s innocence.”

“No. But I know where those answers are.”

Dusk. To the west, the sun dipped deeper into the horizon. In a matter of minutes, it would disappear completely. The evening sky hung low over the city like a protective blanket. The air was still, as though the Earth and everything on it had ceased to breathe. The only sound came from a regal robin proudly perched on an overhead wire.

Dantzler cut the engine and climbed out of his car. The adrenaline rush that fueled his energy had long since passed, leaving him weary to the bone, hungry, and badly in need of sleep. But none of this mattered now. This was, he knew, the final step on a journey that began when a dying man proclaimed his innocence in a prison gymnasium.

Slowly, he pushed away from the car and walked toward the duplex.

Up those steps, behind the door, was where he would uncover the truth. In there, the secrets would be revealed. Here, at last, he would find answers that had eluded him. Who killed those two kids in 1982, why they were killed, how the killer managed to get Eli’s gun, and why an innocent man would quietly agree to spend his life in prison.

Those answers would come from the lonely, tortured soul who for three decades had lived in his own private hell.

Tommy Whitehouse.

Tommy opened the door before Dantzler stepped onto the porch. He was dressed in cut-off jeans, tank top, and white sneakers. He held a plastic cup in his left hand. After motioning Dantzler into the house, Tommy closed the door, moved in front of Dantzler, and held up the cup.

“Dr. Pepper,” he said, sitting. “Straight. You can check it if you like.”

Dantzler sat in the chair across from Tommy. “Your father is being released from prison, Tommy. He should be home sometime tomorrow.”

“Rachel called thirty minutes ago. She and Kirk are already on their way to the prison. They’re flying down in a private jet. She hopes to have Eli home by midnight.” He swallowed hard and looked away. “She asked me to go with them, but…”

“I’m sure your father will be thrilled to see you,” Dantzler said.

“I don’t know about that.”

Dantzler leaned forward. “I need the truth, Tommy. All of it.”

“Truth? About what?”

“About what happened in nineteen eighty-two.”

“What makes you think I know anything about what happened?”

“Come on, Tommy. You’ve had to keep dark secrets bottled up inside you for too long now. It’s time to let go of those secrets and come clean about what happened. About everything.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Detective Dantzler. Or why you think I have the answers.”

“Because of the way you changed, the drinking, your self-imposed estrangement from your father. None of it happened by accident or without a good reason. Something catastrophic triggered it. Also, when we first met, you said something very interesting. You said, ‘my father is innocent, Detective Dantzler. That much you can be sure of.’ Now-”

“I’m sure Rachel said the same thing,”

“Yes, she did. But for her, it was more hope than anything. Not with you. When you said those words to me, you were stating a hard, cold fact.”

Tommy set his cup down, leaned back, and washed his face with his hands. After almost a minute of silence, he finally said, “I can’t tell you what I know. And I wish you would go away and leave me and my family alone. If you persist in this quest, people are going to get hurt.”

“Johnny Richards is dead,” Dantzler said. “His body was found in the trunk of his car about an hour ago. He’s no longer a threat to you or your family.”

Tommy nodded but remained silent.

“I suspect Richards killed those two kids in ’eighty-two,” Dantzler continued. “But I can’t know for sure unless you tell me what happened. You have to fill in the missing pieces.”

“If I do, if I tell you everything, no one in my family will ever speak to me again.” Tears dripped from Tommy’s eyes. “And they would have every right to hate me. For the pain and suffering I caused them.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’d say you’ve got it all wrong.”

“How could they forgive me when I can’t forgive myself?”

“The truth, Tommy. How was Richards able to orchestrate all of this?”

Tommy took a drink from the cup and put it down. “I had been shooting some hoops at the YMCA gym. I was in the locker room getting dressed when I heard these two guys talking. We were the only three people in there at the time. I could see them in a mirror, but they couldn’t see me. Anyway, one of the men, not Richards, started telling Richards that if he didn’t cooperate and testify, he could get into a lot of trouble. The man said to Richards, ‘How many men have you killed? Thirty? Forty? Well, we’re willing to look the other way if you’ll testify against the Gambino family. This offer comes from high up.’ Richards laughed and said something like, ‘You can take your offer back to where it came from and tell your boss I said no deal. Never.’ It was obvious Richards wasn’t at all afraid of the other man.”