Lady Justice and the Mystery Mansion Read online

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  MYSTERY MANSION

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Mystery Mansion

  Copyright September, 2018 by Robert Thornhill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, incidents and entities included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  Fiction, Humorous

  Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  LADY JUSTICE AND THE MYSTERY MANSION

  PROLOGUE

  1825, Indian Territory in Missouri at the site that would one day be the

  City of Kansas City, Gladstone Boulevard.

  For centuries, the Osage tribesmen dwelt in their village high on the beautiful bluff overlooking the Missouri River.

  The Osage were called Ni-u-kon-ska, the People of the Middle Waters.

  The 19th century painter, George Catlin, described the Osage as "the tallest race of men in North America, either red or white skins; there being many of them six and a half, and others seven feet.”

  At the height of their power in the early 19th century, the Osage had become the dominant power in the region, feared by neighboring tribes. The missionary, Isaac McCoy, described the Osage as an “uncommonly fierce, courageous, warlike nation.”

  But their days on the beautiful bluff overlooking the river were numbered.

  The westward expansion of the white man was a force that even the mighty Osage could not overcome.

  In 1825, the Federal Government forced the Osage to give up their land along the Missouri River and relocate to a reservation in the Oklahoma Territory.

  Under the watchful eye of the Federal General, Chief Wa-po'-ga dismantled his village and the members of his tribe began the long trek to their new home.

  Banished from the land of their ancestors, they departed with heavy hearts.

  There is a legend that as the Osage were leaving the beautiful bluff, the tribe's medicine man, Ka'-wa-sab-be, looked back on their home one last time and placed a curse upon it.

  CHAPTER 1

  Gladstone Boulevard, Kansas City, 1952

  Theodore Weston was furious.

  “Julia! How could you do this to our family? The shame! What were you thinking?”

  His daughter opened her mouth to reply but was cut off.

  “That’s just it. You weren’t thinking. For the life of me I can’t understand you consorting with that white trash, Jeremy Caldwell.”

  Julia turned to her father with fire in her eyes. “Jeremy isn’t white trash!”

  “Oh really? Then pray tell me how a man of good breeding could lure a seventeen-year-old girl into his bed and impregnate her?”

  “He didn’t lure me,” Julia replied, haughtily. “I went to him because I love him.”

  “Love! What does a seventeen-year-old know about love? No matter. Mr. Caldwell won’t be coming around anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Daddy! What did you do?”

  “Let’s just say I made the young man an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “I hate you!” Julia cried. She started to lunge at her father but was restrained by her mother, Marjorie.

  “Now, now, Sweetheart. Calm down. I know you don’t mean that.”

  “But I do. He had no right ---.”

  “Enough of this drivel,” Theodore roared. “What’s done, is done. What we have to do now is limit the damage to our family’s reputation. I have a plan and you will do as I say.”

  “What plan?”

  “We will let it be known that we have sent our brilliant daughter overseas to continue her education at one of Europe’s finest universities. For the remainder of your pregnancy, you will not leave this house for any reason. We will deal with the child once it is born.”

  Julia buried her face in her mother’s embrace and sobbed.

  Seven months later

  Screams of anguish came from the upstairs bedroom as Julia gave birth to her illegitimate son.

  The midwife cut the cord, toweled the newborn infant, and handed him to his mother.

  Julia smiled at her baby. “I’ll name you Jeremy after your father. One day you’ll meet him, I promise.”

  Exhausted from the rigors of labor, Julia drifted off to sleep. When she awoke, the midwife was gone and there was no sign of her newborn son.

  “Mother! Mother!” she called.

  The moment her mother entered the room weeping, Julia knew something was terribly wrong.

  “Mother, where’s my baby?”

  At that moment her father entered the room.

  “There will be no more talk of this child. Do you understand?”

  “What do you mean? What have you done with my baby?”

  “I’ve done what should be done with any bastard child. He’ll not be shaming our family’s name and reputation.”

  “Oh my God! Surely you wouldn’t ---.”

  Julia leaped from her bed, pushed her startled father aside, and ran into the hallway. “My baby!” she cried. “I’m coming!”

  At the head of the stairs, her feet became entangled in her nightgown, she stumbled, and plunged headlong down the winding staircase.

  Marjorie Weston looked in horror at her daughter’s lifeless body at the base of the steps.

  The article in the Kansas City Star reported that Julia Weston, the daughter of Theodore and Marjorie Weston, tragically fell to her death just days after returning from her first semester abroad.

  CHAPTER 2

  Kansas City, Missouri, 1975

  Gerald Baldwin, with his wife, Sophia, on his arm, mingled with the other wealthy guests in the Grand Ballroom of the Radisson Muehlebach Hotel. The charity event had attracted the movers and shakers of Kansas City’s social scene. None of the attendees wanted to miss the opportunity to rub elbows with the Kansas City elite.

  Across the room, Sophia saw the man she had been waiting for. He nodded his head and slipped out of the ballroom.

  “Gerald, dear,” Sophia said, “do you mind? I need to powder my nose.”

  “Of course not, darling,” he replied, knowing full well that was just a polite way to say she needed to pee.

  Sophia left the ballroom and spotted her contact, U.S. Air Force Colonel Maxwell Scott, in an alcove near the restrooms.

  “Do you have it?” she asked, joining him in the alcove.

  “Of course,” he replied, looking around to make sure they weren’t being watched. “I told you I could get it. Do you have something for me?”

  She nodded and pulled an envelope out of her purse. “It’s all there. Twenty-five thousand.”

  Scott took the envelope and handed her one in return. “These are the locations in Missouri. Give me another week and I’ll have the locations in Arkansas. Same deal?’

  She nodded, folded the envelope, and slipped it in her purse. “Contact me when you have them and we’ll arrange a meet.”

  They separated, their transaction complete.

  After a brief visit to the lady’s room, Sophia rejoined her husband in the Grand Ballroom.

  A hooded figure watched the Cadillac DeVille pull into the driveway of the Gladstone mansion. He saw the two occupants exit the car and enter throug
h a side door. Moments later, he saw the lights go on in the window of the room he knew to be the master bedroom. He waited patiently until the bedroom light was extinguished.

  Sophia waited until her husband went into the bathroom. As soon as she heard the water running, she pried loose the baseboard behind her dresser and placed the envelope she had received from Colonel Scott into the recess in the wall. Everything was back in place when Gerald returned.

  They undressed, changed into their night clothes, and crawled into bed.

  Sophia gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  “Indeed it was,” Gerald replied, turning off the light.

  Thirty minutes after the lights went out in the bedroom, Dale Gann slipped out of his car and made his way to the side door of the mansion.

  It took him only ten minutes to pick the lock and enter the mud room.

  He stepped into the kitchen and listened. Hearing nothing, he moved silently into the foyer and crept up the stairs to the master bedroom.

  He paused outside the door. Hearing nothing but heavy breathing, he pulled the ski mask over his face, then slipped the gun from his waistband, stepped inside, and turned on the lights.

  “Rise and shine, folks. We’ve got some work to do.”

  Gerald and Sophia bolted upright.

  “Who are you?” Gerald demanded, “and what do you want?”

  “Doesn’t matter who I am. Just do as I say and no one gets hurt.”

  “How dare you break into my home!” Gerald replied, haughtily, climbing out of bed. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

  “Of course I do. That’s why I’m here, and what I want is the contents of that safe in your study. Let’s get that done and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” Gerald replied, stubbornly.

  Gann pointed his gun at Sophia. “Maybe a bullet in the leg of your beautiful little wife will make you more cooperative.”

  “You bastard!” Gerald roared, and lunged at the gunman.

  Gann fired, hitting Gerald in the chest.

  “Too bad,” Gann said, turning to Sophia. “All the fool had to do was open the safe. How about you? Are you going to be stubborn too?”

  Sophia looked at the body of her dead husband. She felt more remorse than she thought she would. It had been a marriage of convenience to get her close to the powerful people who could get her access to the information she needed. Nevertheless, Gerald had been good to her and probably actually loved her.

  “No,” Sophia replied, “I’ll not give you any trouble. I’ll open the safe.”

  “Smart girl,” Gann said, waving the pistol. “Get moving.”

  Once in the study, Sophia went directly to the safe, noting the exact location of her captor.

  She spun the dial three times then turned the handle and opened the door. She reached inside and found the 9mm Beretta. Thanks to her training in the Soviet Union before relocating in Missouri, she was no stranger to firearms.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned and fired. Gann seeing the Beretta, fired at the same time. Both bullets found their mark.

  The next morning, the maid found Gerald’s body in the master bedroom, and the bodies of a masked gunman and Sophia Baldwin, a.k.a. Anna Sokolov, on the floor of the study.

  CHAPTER 3

  Kansas City, Missouri, 1993

  William Lawton and his mistress, April, lay spent after another of their afternoon trysts.

  April turned to face William and looked him in the eyes. “Bill, when are you going to make an honest woman of me?”

  “Soon,” William replied, “very soon.”

  “You’ve been telling me that for months now. I’m beginning to think you’ll never end it with her.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just have to wait for the perfect time, and I think I have everything figured out.”

  “I certainly hope so. I’m so tired of sneaking around like this.”

  “It won’t be long. I promise.”

  As William pulled out of the motel parking lot, he began to finalize his plan.

  For all intents and purposes, his marriage had been over years ago. He and his wife, Janice, even slept in separate bedrooms. They had discussed divorce, but William wasn’t interested. Even though he owned a string of supermarkets across Kansas City, they were only marginally profitable. It was Janice’s side of the family that had the money. A divorce would leave him nearly broke and there was no way he was willing to give up his lavish lifestyle, even to be with April.

  No, the only way this would work was with Janice out of the picture --- permanently.

  William had planned for this day for months and now it seemed everything was coming together perfectly.

  Before leaving for work, William had slipped into Janice’s room while she was showering and removed several valuable pieces of jewelry.

  He was on his way to the apartment of one of his employees, Gene Paxton.

  A month ago, Paxton had applied for a stocker position at William’s Wornall Road market. Paxton had just been released from county lock-up where he had been incarcerated on a breaking and entering arrest. Normally, William wouldn’t have hired the young man, but in this case, Paxton’s arrest fit perfectly with his plan.

  William parked in front of the old two-story house that had been converted to apartments. He looked cautiously around, and seeing no one, entered the foyer and made his way to Paxton’s second floor apartment.

  Using a credit card, he quickly popped open the old deadbolt.

  Once inside, he stashed his wife’s jewelry in the corner of the bedroom closet. In the kitchen, he found what he was looking for, a pair of old leather gloves with Paxton’s name written in ink on the back. He took one of the gloves, leaving its mate behind.

  He listened at the door and hearing no one, quietly slipped away.

  That evening, William Lawson drove downtown to Bartle Hall to attend a trade show.

  There were hundreds of people milling around the arena visiting the booths of the various vendors. He made sure he talked to several of the vendors before slipping away.

  His alibi established, he drove to his home on Gladstone Boulevard, parked, and went inside.

  As he suspected, his wife was passed out on her bed, an empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand.

  He stood beside his wife with a knife he had taken from the kitchen. He paused for just a moment, then plunged the knife into her chest.

  William removed Paxton’s glove from his pocket and dipped it in the blood that was pooling on the bed. Then he pulled out several drawers in her dresser, scattering the contents around the room.

  Satisfied that everything was perfect, he took one last look at his wife. “Good bye, my love.”

  He went back to the kitchen and broke the window in the back door from the outside, then tossed Paxton’s blood-soaked glove on the porch where the police were sure to find it.

  After disposing of the knife, William returned to the trade show, chatting it up with several acquaintances in the grocery business.

  An hour later, he returned to his home on Gladstone Boulevard. He immediately called 911 and minutes later the police arrived finding a distraught William sobbing at the foot of his wife’s bed.

  While a detective was taking William’s statement, an officer approached carrying the bloody glove in an evidence bag.

  “Sir, we found this on the back porch by the broken window. It has a name on it.”

  The detective looked at the bagged glove and turned to William. “Does the name Gene Paxton mean anything to you?”

  “Oh my God!” William wailed. “I can’t believe he would do this to me.”

  The murder trial of Gene Paxton was a slam dunk. The bloody glove with his name found at the scene of the crime was an exact match to one found in Paxton’s apartment. That, along with the jewelry discovered in his closet, sealed his fate.

  Given his previous arrest
record, Paxton was sentenced to life in prison.

  As the twenty-two-year old Paxton was led from the courtroom in cuffs, he pleaded. “I swear I didn’t do this! I’m innocent!”

  CHAPTER 4

  Kansas City, Missouri, 2008

  As the S.W.A.T. team pulled up in front of the stately mansion on Gladstone Boulevard, the officer looked questioningly at Lieutenant Max Roper in the seat beside him. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

  Roper looked at the warrant. “Yes, this is it. The home is owned by Albert Crittendon Briggs. It’s his son, Jason, who’s named in the warrant.”

  The officer shook his head. “Why in the world would someone who lives in digs like this steal from his company?”

  “The story I heard,” Roper replied, “is that the old man, Albert, was heavily invested in the housing market, and you know what’s happened to that.”

  “Boy, do I,” the officer replied. “The bottom’s fallen out. We bought our house three years ago and today it’s worth fifty grand less than what we paid for it. Thank God we don’t have to sell right now.”

  “Exactly,” Roper said. “Albert Briggs is sitting on a boat load of houses he can’t sell and the interest is eating him alive. Word has it that Jason embezzled the money to keep his father from going under.”

  “So why is S.W.A.T. involved in this? Seems to me that’s overkill for serving a warrant and picking a guy up.”

  “Normally that’s true,” Roper replied, “but Jason Briggs was Special Forces. He served two tours in Iraq. He has skills and if he won’t come peacefully --- well --- that’s why we’re here.”