Lady Justice and the Black Widow Read online

  Satisfied, she removed a card from her purse and placed it on the senator’s chest.

  “Cheryl, this one’s for you,” she whispered, as she slipped out the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  My name is Walt Williams and I’m a seventy-four-year-old private investigator.

  I know what you’re going to say. “Seventy-four! Why in heaven’s name aren’t you retired?”

  I get that a lot.

  The answer is that I’ve tried retirement twice, and I’m just not very good at it.

  The first time was after a twenty-five-year career in real estate. That one lasted about a week. Bored out of my mind, I witnessed an elderly lady being mugged, and I decided then and there that I wanted to be a cop.

  I realized at the time, mainly because nearly everyone I knew told me so, that becoming a cop at sixty-five was absurd. Nevertheless, I overcame hurdles you wouldn’t believe, and spent five years in the Kansas City Police Department with my partner, Ox.

  Finally, at age seventy, I took a bullet in the kiester and figured I should quit while I was ahead.

  That retirement lasted about two weeks. As soon as my rear end was well enough to sit in a car doing surveillance, my septuagenarian brother-in-law, Kevin McBride, talked me into opening Walt Williams Investigations.

  The idea was that by owning our own business, we could pick and choose the cases we wanted to take. He promised we would only be doing cream puff stuff like snapping photos of cheating spouses.

  He lied --- not intentionally, of course. Since opening WWI, we’ve had our share of muggings, mayhem, kidnappings, and terrorist plots.

  Some people just seem to attract trouble. I’m beginning to suspect that I’m one of them.

  Tonight was supposed to be one of those cream puff gigs. Because of my tenure on the force, once in a while the department would throw a crumb our way.

  In order to finance his re-election campaign, the mayor was throwing a fund-raising dinner. For a paltry grand, you could break bread with Kansas City’s upper crust.

  The list of invitees read like a who’s who of the city’s social elite. With the Hilton President Hotel ballroom filled with the rich and famous, security was a priority. Uniformed officers as well as undercover agents were spread throughout the hotel. In order to gain entrance, an invitee had to pass through a metal detector much like the ones at KCI Airport.

  Kevin and I had been given the thankless job of manning the metal detector. We were glorified TSA agents whose task was to frisk people who didn’t want to be frisked.

  No one wants to have a wand passed over their body, much less be patted down, especially those who think their poop doesn’t stink, but that was our job.

  Time and again we were given looks that would terrify lesser beings, but we were up to the task.

  Nearly everyone would glare, and although they didn’t actually say the words, we knew what they wanted to say. “My good man, apparently you don’t know who I am! If you did, you wouldn’t be harassing me this way!”

  We would just smile back and think, “I don’t give a damn who you are. Our job is to make sure you haven’t hooked up with ISIS, and are smuggling a gun into the ballroom to assassinate our mayor.”

  My old partner, Ox, and his wife, Judy, also a cop, stopped by to say hello. Naturally, my friend couldn’t help rubbing salt in the wound. “How come you’re not making these guys take off their belts and shoes?”

  “Very funny!”

  I was surprised to see my former captain, Duane Short, and homicide detective Derek Blaylock. Evidently it was ‘all hands on deck’ for the mayor’s gala event.

  Finally, everyone had entered the ballroom except a few stragglers.

  I was just about to relax when I was approached by one of the undercover cops.

  “Walt, dinner is about to be served and Senator Benjamin hasn’t been seated yet. Someone said they thought they saw him heading to his room earlier. We’ve tried to call but no answer. Maybe he was beat and needed a nap before the evening festivities.” He handed me a key card. “Would you mind going up and checking on the Senator?”

  Great, I thought, now I’m an errand boy.

  “Sure, not a problem,” I replied. At least I’m a well-paid errand boy.

  I took the elevator to the sixth floor and followed the signs on the wall to #613, the senator’s room.

  I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. “Senator Benjamin, please come to the door.”

  Getting no response, I slipped the key card into the reader and pushed the door open about a foot.

  “Senator Benjamin, are you here?”

  I stepped inside and spotted the senator on the floor.

  I rushed to his side and felt for a pulse. There was none. Then I noticed the card on his chest. On it was a picture of a nasty looking spider and the words ‘The Black Widow.’

  I quickly backed out of the room and called Detective Blaylock on my cell phone. “Derek, you’d better get up here. The senator is dead.”

  Within minutes, the sixth floor was crawling with cops.

  Detective Blaylock had been the first to arrive. After checking out the room, he came back into the hall. “Tell me what happened.”

  “The senator hadn’t shown up for dinner, so one of your officers gave me a pass key and asked me to check on him. I knocked, and when I got no response, I went in and found the body.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “I felt for a pulse. When I didn’t get one, I came right out and called you.”

  He pulled me aside. “Undoubtedly you saw the card on his chest.”

  I nodded.

  “Not a word to anyone what you saw in there. Understand?”

  “Absolutely. Mum’s the word.”

  He turned to one of the uniformed officers. “No one is to enter that room except the coroner and the forensic team.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Walt, stick around. I’ll need to get an official statement.”

  This was supposed to be a cream puff gig, but there it was, and once again I found myself knee deep in a high-profile murder. Like I said before, no matter how hard I try, trouble seems to find its way to my door.

  The next morning, Jan hastily opened the Kansas City Star. She smiled as she read the front-page headline. “Senator Morton Benjamin found murdered at the mayor’s fundraising gala.”

  Her friend, Cindy, hoping to get a few quotes from the mayor and visiting dignitaries, had landed the biggest story of her career.

  She read that the senator’s body had been found in his room. At a hastily arranged press conference, the detective in charge, Derek Blaylock, said that the death was being investigated as a homicide, stating that he couldn’t give any more information in an on-going investigation.

  Jan was both surprised and shocked to see that Derek Blaylock was the detective assigned to the case. She knew Blaylock well. They had dated off and on for the past year. Nothing serious --- yet. She didn’t date all that much. Her experience with the professor and her relationship with her father had soured her opinion of the male gender.

  Her father definitely had an ‘old school’ attitude toward women. A woman’s place was in the home, to rear children, do laundry, and have a hot meal on the table in the evening. Her mother was never permitted to work outside the home.

  He was humiliated by her problem at the university and was absolutely incensed when she quit and took the job at the Star. She hadn’t spoken to him since.

  Derek was the exception. He treated her with respect, as an equal, and she appreciated that. She also realized that dating a homicide detective had its disadvantages. It was a career that carried a lot of baggage. On more than one occasion, their evening had been interrupted by a call summoning Derek to the scene of another grisly murder.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d think if he knew she was the perpetrator his latest case. One thing was for sure --- she would have to be very careful. Derek was an excellent detec
tive.

  After reading the complete article, Jan slammed the paper down in disgust. There was nothing --- not a single word --- about the black widow card.

  Just like the police to keep a detail like that away from the public, she thought. Cindy had no idea she only had part of the story. Very soon she would have it all.

  Dressing quickly, she stopped by the library and using one of their computers, printed out a message. She placed the message in a blank envelope which she left on Cindy’s desk.

  Jan watched as Cindy found the envelope and read the message. She smiled when she saw Cindy pick up the phone. The call was undoubtedly to the detective in charge of the investigation.

  It was well after midnight when I got home. I had planned to sleep in, but at eight o’clock the phone roused me from my sleep.

  “Williams! You and your partner get your asses down here right now!”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Blaylock. Now get down here or I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

  “What’s so urgent?”

  “Just get here. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  I called Kevin, picked him up, and we headed to the precinct.

  We were greeted by a red-faced Derek Blaylock. “Walt, I thought I could trust you to keep your mouth shut.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “The Black Widow card. Somehow the press heard about it. There was nothing in the paper about the card this morning, then I got a call from a Star reporter. She knew about the card. Only a handful of people were in that room and none of them leaked the information, so it had to be you.”

  “Hold on a minute,” I replied defensively. “I left the hotel, went straight home and crawled in bed. I haven’t talked to a soul, not even Maggie.”

  Derek turned to Kevin. “What about you?”

  “Don’t look at me,” he replied. “This is the first I’m hearing about a Black Widow card.”

  “I didn’t even tell Kevin,” I said. “You asked me to keep my mouth shut and that’s what I did. Did you ask the reporter how she got the tip?”

  “Of course I asked her. I got the same old line. ‘Sorry, I can’t reveal my source.’ Damned First Amendment!”

  I thought for a moment. “If it wasn’t your guys and it wasn’t me, then maybe it was the killer who tipped her off. Think about it. Whoever offed the senator obviously left the card as a message. You didn’t release the information so it wasn’t in the paper. The killer made sure their message was going to be made public.”

  “Maybe” he said, “But what’s the message? A spider on a card?”

  Kevin spoke up. “Isn’t Senator Benjamin the guy who was just accused of sexually harassing one of his interns?”

  “Yes, but he denied everything. He said the woman --- I think her name was Stokes --- made up the story to make a name for herself.”

  “Well, there you go,” Kevin replied. “She said he did it and he says it’s a lie. The senator has juice. He would probably have gotten off scot-free.”

  “So what does that have to do with the card?” Blaylock asked.

  “Really?” Kevin responded. “Didn’t you take biology? Black widow spiders are sexual carnivores. After they mate, the female kills and eats the male.”

  I was amazed. “How could you possibly know that.”

  “Hey,” he said, pretending I had hurt his feelings, “I’m not just a pretty face. I think what you’ve got here is a champion for women’s rights. Just look at all of the accusations of sexual abuse by powerful men lately. I think this black widow is sending a message. Keep your pants zipped and leave the ladies alone or you just might end up like Senator Benjamin. It’s right out of DC Comics. This Black Widow could be the next Wonder Woman.”

  What Kevin said made sense.

  Apparently Blaylock agreed.

  He buried his face in his hands. “Jesus! Just what I need!”

  CHAPTER 4

  When I opened the Kansas City Star the next morning, I figured Detective Blaylock would be having a conniption fit.

  The headline read, “Is the Black Widow sending a message?”

  The story continued with the account of the card found on the senator’s body, and the fact that he had been accused of sexually harassing his intern. There was no question that the reporter was suggesting that the #Me Too movement had spawned a clandestine champion of women’s rights.

  I waited until after the morning briefing to give Ox a call.

  “Good morning. I’m guessing that things were a bit tense around the precinct this morning.”

  “Boy, I’ll say,” Ox replied. “That article in the Star has got the brass’s panties in a twist.”

  “Did the captain share any details about the murder?”

  “Yes. The coroner determined the cause of death. The senator was poisoned with an injection of potassium chloride. The only other marks on the body were two puncture wounds in the chest, undoubtedly made by a taser. Blaylock is thinking that the senator was incapacitated by the taser, then injected with the potassium. The taser, the poison, the black widow card, and the possibility that the senator was a bad boy, point to the killer being a woman.”

  “That makes sense. It would seem that the most likely suspect would be the intern. What’s her name, Stokes?”

  “That was Blaylock’s first thought, but Stokes was in Iowa visiting her parents, so that’s a dead end.”

  “Did forensics get anything?”

  “Nada. The room was clean.”

  “So what you’re saying is that a state senator has been murdered right under the cops’ noses by a Black Widow avenger and they don’t have a clue.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “No wonder their panties are in a twist.”

  Needless to say, Jan was thrilled when she read the morning headline.

  Cindy had found a fast horse and she was riding it hard. No doubt the editors were happy campers. This was the kind of story that sold papers.

  Jan had been caught up in the thrill of her first kill, but she wondered if, in the light of day, she would feel remorse and regret her rash actions.

  She wondered what Derek would think of her if he knew.

  She had seen the senator’s wife on the TV newscast. She was playing the role of the grieving widow, but Jan figured she had to know that her hubby was a womanizer. She was willing to bet that secretly the wife was ecstatic that the creep got what was coming to him. Now she was free to collect the whopping insurance policy and get on with her life.

  Many thoughts were going through her mind. She thought about dogs. Maybe it was just a way to rationalize and ease a guilty conscience. Dogs are so sweet, kind and innocent. Only the truly depraved would beat or kill one of the adorable creatures, but if a dog was rabid, that was entirely a different story. The only thing to do with the diseased animal was to put it down before it hurt someone.

  Men like the senator had a disease that hurt innocent people, and like the rabid dog, needed to be put down.

  As she suspected, her editor, Chris Carnes was all bubbly.

  “Nice work on the Black Widow story Cindy. Stay on top of it. I’m sure there’s more to come. Now, we need to concentrate on the other big event coming to our fair city, March Madness.”

  Some in the room rolled their eyes and groaned. Others cheered. It all depended on whether or not you were a basketball fan.

  Carnes continued, “I’m sure you’re all aware that the Big 12 Men’s Basketball Tournament starts this week. Thousands of basketball fans from all over the Midwest will flood Kansas City hoping their university will win the championship and a berth in the NCAA Tournament. Tony, I have an assignment for you. I want you to grab a photographer and interview DeRon Blackmon. I’ve already cleared it with his coach. This kid is definitely the phenom to watch this year. He’s averaging thirty points and twelve rebounds a game. He won his last game by making a three-pointer at the buzzer from half court. He’s staying at t
he Holiday Inn Express on 13th Street, room 412.”

  Another reporter raised her hand. “DeRon Blackmon. Isn’t he the one that lured a fan into his room and groped her? If I remember right, she asked for an autograph, but when she got into his room he told her you don’t get anything in this life for free. He threw her on the bed but she managed to get free and fled. I think Blackmon said something like, ‘A girl goes into a guy’s bedroom, she ought to know what to expect.’”

  “That’s old news,” Carnes replied. “The university took care of the situation. The kid’s here to win a championship. That’s the story we’re after.”

  It’s the Brad Childress thing all over again, Jan thought, only this time it’s basketball, not football. These hot-shot athletes think they’re so important they can get away with anything.

  “Jan!” Carnes said, bringing her back into the moment. “I have an assignment for you. Hotel rooms around the Sprint Center fill up quickly. Interview some of the hotel managers and get a feel for how the tournament affects their bottom line.”

  “Sure, will do.”

  She smiled. Another puff piece for Jan the reporter. Another quest for Jan the Black Widow.

  Jan followed Tony and the photographer from the parking garage into the lobby of the Holiday Inn Express. After they disappeared into the elevator, she bought a magazine and a Coke from the snack shop, found a seat where she could see the bank of elevators, and waited.

  A half-hour later, Tony and the photographer emerged and headed for the parking garage. As soon as she was sure they were gone, she boarded the elevator to the fourth floor.

  Finding room #412, she paused, took a deep breath, and knocked.

  Blackmon opened the door, somewhat surprised. “Whoa! What can I do for you, pretty lady?”

  Jan showed him her press credentials. “My name is Jan. I’m from the Star. I hope you don’t mind. Tony had some follow-up questions for his article. He has another interview so he asked me to help out.”