Cat’s Claw: Gateway Investigations, #2

By Clara Kendrick

This is the second book of the Gateway Investigations series containing 49,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

The world is full of a whole lot of sickos. That's no real surprise. Since I'm a private investigator by trade, I might be biased. But right now, I'm looking at a whole string of bodies and a justice system that wants to put the wrong man in jail. So pardon me if I'm not real impressed with the local detectives right now. And double pardon me if I have orders from my boss to get in their way and make myself a regular nuisance while I try to get these guys to do their job. Not that it's a hardship since the guy I'm following around happens to be the best-looking guy in the department. Of course, he's also a bit of an odd duck. He seems to be immune to my charm, and that is what I call a challenge…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: Sep 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9798224013432

Clara Kendrick

Discover the captivating world of Clara Kendrick's romantic suspense. With her masterful storytelling and skillful blend of intrigue, romance, and passion, Kendrick draws readers in and keeps them hooked until the very end. Get ready to be swept away by her thrilling and steamy tales of love and suspense. Signup and follow at: Books2read.com/ClaraKendrick Facebook.com/AuthorClaraKendrick

Book preview

Chapter One

Mitch Pulaski sat at the outdoor café and perused the local news on his phone. The air was muggy, hot, and unpleasant, but Mitch was sitting outside for a reason. Saint Louis summers were never pleasant. Temperatures in the city itself soared over a hundred degrees as the tall buildings and the blacktop streets trapped the heat and caused a number of deaths every single year.

It was a little less disgusting in Clayton, home of the county municipal court system and the justice center. But less disgusting was a relative term in Mitch’s opinion. He usually spent his summers in the country or down at the Lake of the Ozarks on his boat. But then he did not generally have a son-in-law in jail that required him to stay in the city and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

A young woman sat down across from him. She was short−perhaps five foot four−and as slim and lithe as a gymnast. He knew for a fact that Frankie Torrance had been a collegiate gymnast before applying to Quantico. But that was ancient history.

Well? Mitch prompted. What did you find out?

I’ve been bugging Detective Jason Kramer for three weeks now. Frankie sounded disgruntled. He’s like a fucking vault.

Okay. So did you get a glimpse of our buddy Detective Robertson?

Frankie rolled her green eyes. Those paired with her black hair made her attract men like bees to honey. It was just that she was generally impervious to male attention. They paid attention to her. She got what she wanted from them. It made her a wonderful investigator. Mitch tried not to think about what it was like for her in the personal department. That wasn’t really any of his business.

Robertson is holding court in the rotunda. Her expression was grim. He’s in the middle of a press conference.

Then I think we should go pay him a visit. Mitch stood up and slid his phone into his pocket.

Frankie shrugged. You’re the boss.

It doesn’t stop you from having an opinion, he grunted. He was already walking across the street. Frankie had to stretch her stride to keep up with him.

At this point, whatever you would like to do in order to rock the boat, Frankie said irritably, I’m game. We have to make these fuckers acknowledge that they’re breaking all the rules on this case.

The case being the rape and murder charges against Mitch’s son-in-law. For whatever reason, the Saint Louis County police department had decided to hang Jackson Handler Junior out to dry regardless of whether or not the evidence fit.

Mitch stepped right up to the glass-and-brick building that stretched nine stories into the air. The structure housed all legal municipal offices, plus the administrative portion of the jail, which was attached. Right now there was a crowd of reporters in the rotunda right inside the lobby on the first floor. There were cameras and microphones waving around as every news outlet in the city tried to get the latest scoop on the case of Jackson Handler.

Look at that little prick, Mitch muttered to Frankie as he spotted Detective Robin Robertson in the center of the circus. He’s soaking up his limelight.

It’s not like he’ll ever have another chance, Frankie observed. Mitch could see her scanning the room, probably looking for Detective Jason Kramer. Once this whole thing blows wide open, he’s going to be the one to hang.

Maybe. Mitch still wondered who was actually pulling the strings.

So what’s your plan? Frankie wanted to know. You just going to−

Detective Robertson! Mitch bellowed.

Frankie sighed. Okay, I guess this is our plan.

Mitch was certainly not done making his point this morning. "Ladies and gentleman of the press! What this incompetent detective is not telling you is how many times he has violated Mr. Jackson Handler’s civil rights! Handler has been denied visits with his attorney! Robertson made certain that Mr. Handler’s attorney was not even allowed to be present at the arraignment! They forced Handler to use a public defender when we all know that Jackson Handler Junior can perfectly well afford and entire defense team! Mitch was on a roll and nothing was going to stop him now. Ask Robertson why he is so afraid to let Mr. Handler have a good lawyer. Ask him!"

The press spun around and started pelting Robertson with more questions. Robertson sputtered and could not come up with anything but a lame denial. That meant the press spun back around to glance hopefully at Mitch. This was certainly going to make the evening news.

"It’s because there is no physical evidence to tie Mr. Handler to these crimes!" Mitch shouted.

Mitch could feel his anger rising. He hated the sheer injustice of it all. It wasn’t fair. His daughter had been subjected to the worst embarrassment of all time. Shawna’s wedding reception had been crashed by men in SWAT uniforms there to arrest the groom and cause the biggest possible humiliation to Mitch and his family.

Mitch wasn’t done. He continued to shout. We are talking about thirteen rapes! Mitch railed at the press. "How can there be no physical evidence left behind in those cases? How is that possible? I’ll tell you how! It’s because there is physical evidence. It just doesn’t support the arrest of Jackson Handler for these crimes!"

There was a low murmur throughout the news people on scene. Finally one woman turned around and shoved her microphone in Detective Robertson’s direction. Detective, is that true? Do you really have no physical evidence against Mr. Handler?

We’re not currently saying what we have or do not have against Mr. Handler, Robertson said lamely.

Detective, the reporter said without missing a beat, if you have physical evidence, why not say what it is so that you can put these rumors to rest? Without any confirmation of the physical evidence, we’re all going to report that you don’t have it. The people need to know what’s going on. They have a right to know!

The reporters started pressing forward. They were pushing Robertson for answers and when he fled the scene like a coward, the news crews were hungrily trolling for anyone who might have a story to tell.

Mitch chuckled. Then he turned to Frankie. My work here is done.

Frankie didn’t say anything. He could see her staring at Detective Kramer from across the room. It was an odd sort of look she was giving him. In fact, he had never seen Frankie look that way before.

Mitch waited until they were outside the justice center before he approached her about what was going on. So tell me what’s really happening with Kramer, Mitch suggested.

He was heading back to his spot at the outdoor café. As soon as he sat, a waitress hustled out. Mr. Pulaski, did you need anything else this morning? She spoke fast and with a slight drawl like every other native Saint Louisan.

Actually Kiesha, can you bring me a couple of gooey butter pastries and another cup of iced coffee? The dark roast please.

And you, ma’am? Kiesha offered her winning smile to Frankie, white teeth flashing against her dark skin. What can I get for you?

Frankie smiled back at Kiesha. I think I’ll just have an iced coffee. No pastries.

Aw, Kiesha teased. Them things are delicious. Don’t you let Mr. Mitch eat them all!

All right, Frankie sighed. I suppose I’ll be shopping for new pants next week at this rate. Bring me one too.

Will do! Keisha left with a sunny, satisfied smile and Frankie slumped into her seat. She waited for the waitress to be out of earshot. How can that girl be so damn happy all the time?

Keisha? Mitch pursed his lips. Sometimes he hated the fact that people were always so inclined to tell him things. It made him uncomfortable to know so much about their lives. A few months ago she was living with a man who was dealing drugs out of her apartment. I met her here at this café. She was working hard, but couldn’t make ends meet because this man was sucking her dry.

Frankie began to nod. You made him go away.

We did. Mitch gave a nod. It wasn’t just me. Adam, Jonah, and a couple of the other guys helped too.

I’m glad. Frankie seemed to feel that this one act corrected a shocking number of other things that were just wrong. And I just don’t get why Kramer won’t talk to me. It’s bugging me.

Why?

Because what does the guy have to lose really? Frankie demanded. Is he protecting some asshole like Robertson who doesn’t give a shit about Kramer and would happily throw him under the bus just to get a promotion?

Maybe it’s more complicated than that, Mitch suggested. His brain was turning in wild circles as he tried to think what would make a detective like Kramer loyal to an organization that was so obviously corrupt. You have to realize that blowing the whistle will cost the man his job and his career. Right?

It’s like Quantico! Frankie burst out. Why be in an organization that seems so corrupt to begin with? I knew after one year that I could hack that place, but didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be in the FBI. I didn’t believe in what they stood for. So I figured out how to use my skills elsewhere, and finally I found work with you.

Imagine you’d discovered that the FBI did not hold the same values as you did much later? Mitch told her. Imagine you figured that out after ten years. Fifteen years. Imagine you were getting ready to retire or something.

But Kramer isn’t that age! she protested.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have good reasons for what he’s doing, Mitch insisted.

Kiesha appeared a moment later. She did not look the same. Her face was ashen and she seemed jittery. Mitch knew immediately that something had gone terribly wrong.

Kiesha, sweetie, what happened? Mitch asked quietly.

Kiesha gently set a small vial on the tabletop. Some man just tried to pay me a hundred bucks to put this in your pastry.

What did he look like? Mitch’s heart began to race as adrenaline flooded his system, but he did not let his agitation show. He could not afford to worry Kiesha and make her bolt. He also didn’t want to get her in trouble.

White, Kiesha muttered. Maybe your height. Generic man. Blond hair. Wearing preppy clothes.

Thanks kiddo. Mitch stood up and tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table. You take care of yourself.

Frankie was already heading around the corner of the building toward the alley. Mitch followed. She was tiny, yet she was moving fast at a walk and he could barely keep up with her. She moved fast and with energy. She was agitated and very much ready to kick some ass. That was obvious.

You think he’s still back here? Frankie muttered as she arrived at the café’s back door.

The alley was narrow. There was barely enough room for the garbage trucks to get back there to empty the Dumpster. It was hot, and a fetid odor hung in the air. There was nothing but brick buildings vaulting into the air on both sides of the alley. Far down to his left, Mitch could see the mouth of the alley and a busy street beyond.

I don’t think he’s still here, Mitch said quietly. I think he’s long gone. He held up the vial of what was probably poison. But I’m most certainly going to send this to be analyzed. Maybe we can get some hint as to who is behind this.

We’d better find out soon, Frankie said darkly. Or we’re all going to be in some serious shit.

Chapter Two

Jason Kramer took a deep breath and tried to think logically. There was no doubt in his mind that Mitch Pulaski was absolutely right about the suspiciousness of a complete lack of evidence in the Handler case. That was one of the many things that had been bugging Jason from the very beginning. There was no physical evidence. How did a guy rape thirteen women and leave absolutely no hint of himself behind? They had done DNA testing on Handler. They had done DNA testing on the victims. There was no match. There was no way of linking Handler to any of the victims.

The rotunda was steadily clearing out. Reporters were muttering to each other as they left the justice center. Detective Robin Robertson−aka Captain Wonderful−had called this stupid press conference without even consulting their real captain.

Jason wandered over to where Captain Hall was standing. The man was in his sixties and had been a county cop in Saint Louis his entire career. He knew this city. He knew the county. He knew the people. And Jason had a feeling that Captain Hall also knew a load of crap when he heard one. And this whole thing was full of crap.

That went well, hmm? Jason murmured to Captain Hall.

The captain turned to Jason, and Jason was surprised to see that the guy’s expression was almost hostile. I know you’re in constant contact with Gateway Investigations and Mitch Pulaski, Captain Hall snapped. Did you tell them to be here?

No. Jason didn’t appreciate the insinuation, but it was high time he set the record straight. "And for your information, I am not in constant contact. They are hounding me because they have been helpful to me in the past with other cases and now they would like me to help them understand what the fuck is going on with this case. It stinks, Jason said flatly. We all know it stinks. You know it stinks too. So what the hell is going on?"

Hall grunted. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything more about it. There was a long pause, but Jason didn’t walk away. He wanted Hall to know that this wasn’t over. Jason was not done pointing out all the strange inconsistencies and vague evidence trail attached to this case.

I need you to look into something for me, Captain Hall said suddenly.

Jason drew back, a bit surprised. "You want me to look into something? Like an official case? Or is this personal?"

It’s hush hush, is what it is, Hall growled. He turned to glare at Jason. You need to keep this quiet.

Why?

Because I think we either have a copycat in the city, or we possibly have a...well... The captain trailed off and Jason realized that this was big. Not just big, but huge.

Jason pointed at the captain. You think that there is a possibility that you have the wrong man, Jason’s fervent whisper carried no further than the two of them. "You’re afraid these copycat murders aren’t copycats at