Chapter 1

 

My name is Jason Ryder. They call me Red even though my hair is brown. It's because of Red Ryder the old movie cowboy. He was the one who had the Indian kid sidekick, Little Beaver.

The first time I saw her I wasn't all that impressed. I don't mean she was ugly or homely or fat or anything. Just not impressive because I had my eye on Marcie, a file clerk and I'm a very focused kind of guy. It was at a Christmas party at one of my co-worker's house.

The next time I saw her was at a private lake party. One of my co-workers knew someone who knew a person and got us the use of the place. That time she was a bit more impressive. She actually looked pretty good to me, but not anything that made my heart race or my mouth get dry. On that occasion, she was staying close to her husband as she had the previous time. Unlike the other women who gathered to talk about wifely things.

I didn't see her again for nearly two years. I heard through the grapevine that she and hubby had gone their separate ways. Hubby's name was Carl Effler. I used the past tense because Carl was now dead. Like me, Carl was a cop and as far as I know, he was a good cop.

Carl happened-up on a robbery in progress at a Korean grocery store. He was on his way home and stopped for something. He managed to take one robber down before taking a hit. He shot and wounded the second culprit while he lay dying. We found the second man less than a block away from the scene. That one was DOA when they got him to the ER.

Carl's ex-wife didn't attend his funeral. Someone told me she was out of the country and couldn't make it back in time. Maybe so. Some marriages end badly so maybe she didn't want to make it back, but who's to say? It didn't make any difference to Carl.

When the front desk called back to the dick's bullpen and told me there was a Tammy Effler to see me I didn't make the connection. I'm not even sure I had been interested enough to ever learn her first name. I recognized her, but only after she connected the dots for me.

"I'm Carl Effler's ex-wife, Tammy," she said in a low throaty voice. "We met a few times."

"Oh sure," I said opened the gate for her to come through. "What can I do for you, Tammy?"

"I remembered that you and Carl were friends," she said. I didn't correct her. Carl and I worked together, but we were hardly friends. "I didn't know who else to turn to, Detective Ryder."

"Call me Jason or Red if you prefer. I answer to either."

"Thank you," she said and licked her lips. Full lush lips I found myself thinking. "After Carl and I separated he continued to live in our house in Oakview," she said. "After the divorce was final I was awarded the house." I waited while she nervously picked at a thread on the front of her blouse. A blouse that seemed full of hidden delights I thought. I commanded myself to stop thinking those things. "Since I was traveling I let Carl continue to stay there. That's where he was living when he was killed."

"A couple of months ago I came back," she continued after I didn't comment on her statement. I thought it was nice of her to let Carl stay there, but it wasn't worthy of comment. "A few days ago I decided to clean out the garage and get rid of some junk. I found a lot of things that maybe the police department should have. Records and files; that sort of thing. Boxes and boxes of papers and things that I assume are items of evidence, but I didn't look in every carton."

"I see," I said. "Would you like to come and look at it?"

"Would you please? I don't want to throw out anything important. It may just be junk, but..."

"Sure I'll come out whenever it's convenient for you," I said. "You tell me when."

"I don't want to disrupt your home life so maybe you should tell me when would be best for you."

"I have no home life," I said with a smile. "How about this evening after I get off duty?"

She told me that was fine, gave me the address to save me the trouble of looking it up, smiled at me, and left leaving a scent behind her that I thought I could smell long after it was gone.

 

***

 

Oakview is a large subdivision in a medium priced neighborhood. Homes that cops could afford by being careful with their money. Maybe even afford a swimming pool if the little wife also worked outside the home and they didn't have too many rug-rats to feed and clothe. I had only been to the Effler home once. That was when I took the Police Benevolent Association's check to Carl's parent's right after he had been gunned down. That was the day after the solemn ceremony we cops put on for one of our fallen.

We know how to put on a funeral. Bagpipes, uniforms, white gloves, a lot of black ribbons, and the twenty-one gun salute. There are speeches by the mayor and the chief of police and other dignitaries to be suffered through, but we know how to do that, too. Even with all the pomp and ceremony it doesn't seem like enough.

Tammy Effler met me at the open garage door that stood open. She invited me to feel free to look in the dozen or so boxes and told me she would be back soon.

"I'm going to run a few errands can I pick up some take-out for dinner? I shouldn't be gone more than an hour."

Since I didn't have any dinner plans other than going to my apartment and ordering pizza, I told her that would be lovely. She suggested Chinese and I again told her that was lovely. She got in her tiny sports car and roared off down the street.

It didn't take long to determine that Carl Effler was a packrat. Box one contained every scrap of paper he had ever used while performing his copping chores. Stacks and stacks of old note books that all uniform cops carry. His collection started on day one of his tenure and continued until his last days. Box number two had more of the same type junk. Old files of old criminals, many long since dead or serving time in some prison.

Box three was similar and by the time I opened sealed box four I was convinced it was a waste of my time and that there was nothing of value in any of them. Oh how wrong I was.

Box five finally had something which peaked my interest. It contained photos of Tammy Effler and they were great. Some were lingerie and swimwear which were nice, but what really got my attention were the nudes.

Tammy Effler was one of those rare women who actually looked better in the buff. She had nice full breasts and a bare pubic area. Some of the photos were in albums and some loose in an old shoebox at the bottom. The photos in the shoe box were nothing more or less than porn. Stills of action shots with Tammy and a variety of men. Young men, older men, Asian men, black men, and one guy who could have been an American Indian or whatever we are supposed to call them. When Tammy pulled her loud little car into the drive, I put all the pictures back and closed the box. I had it resealed with duct tape when she came through the garage.

"Go wash up and I'll set this stuff out," she said. "Are you finding anything useful?"

"I think maybe some of it is things I should take with me," I answered. "I'm about halfway through the boxes."

"Okay, you can get back to it after we've eaten," she said going on into the house.

Our conversation was casual during the meal. I found that she was well spoken and obviously intelligent. I made myself look at her face instead of her impressive chest.

I should make it known here that I am a breast man. I know some men prefer ass, some are pro pussy, and some even lust after feet and navels, but I like boobies and size makes no difference. Large, small, hangers, droops, are all the same to me. I developed an interest in tits at an early age and it just grew over time.

Tammy Effler had a real treasure chest and I wondered why I hadn't noticed her goodies before. We finished and I went back to the garage after assuring her I didn't need any help.

The next couple of boxes contained nothing to get excited about. Then I found a carton that contained videos. Older VHS, Smaller camcorder tapes, and several disks. I resealed it and put it with the photo box. The last box had some very interesting things. Two pistols, one automatic and one revolver, and several knives, not in the legal pocket knife category. There was a baggy of green plant material so old it crackled and a couple containers of white powder that I was sure were coke. I assumed it was some evidence Carl intended to use and didn't for whatever reason.

Toward the bottom of the box I found an envelope containing a key but no explanation. The door from the house opened and Tammy came out with a tray with two bottles of beer.

"What would you say to a cold beer?" she asked.

"I'd say, hello cold beer, you beautiful thing," I answered causing her to laugh. She had a good laugh.

"Finding anything worthwhile?" she asked clinking her bottle against mine.

"Yeah, a couple of boxes I need to look closer at," I answered. "There are some things in this one I need to destroy."

"Yeah, the pot and coke," she said. "That box has stuff from another box and I combined them." She kicked the box. "That's was when I thought I'd better get some help with this crap. What's that?" she asked eyeing the key I held in my hand.

"I don't know," I answered. "Looks like the key to a lockbox or something. Has the number 621 stamped on it. Did Carl have a safe deposit box at a bank?"

"Not that I am aware of. There was a small strongbox in the closet, but I knew where he kept the key and I opened it. Nothing in it but some personal papers and a couple thousand dollars in cash. I sent the money to his folks because they were his heirs."

"Carl changed his will after your divorce, huh?"

"Yes, but for whatever reason he didn't change the beneficiary on his insurance policies. I was still the beneficiary. Isn't that strange?"

I said it wasn't strange, but it was. After my divorce, I had my ex off everything I could think of and especially my insurance.

Through our group plan we can get life insurance pretty reasonably. Also through the Police Benevolent Association we can get even more insurance. I wondered how much insurance Carl carried. I didn't have to wonder long. She told me the total was seven hundred fifty thousand dollars. Carl had carried the max.

"Do you carry that much insurance, Red?" she asked me. I told her as a single guy, I carried just what the police department gave me and that was almost enough to bury me. Carl had been paying a hefty premium and I had to wonder why.

"You must have had a civil divorce," I said.

"I don't know if I would call it civil or not," she said with an abrupt laugh. "We didn't take shots at one another. I think Carl hoped I'd change my mind right to the very last. Not that it was going to happen. Once I made up my mind it was over, it was over. This other stuff will be all right to set out for the garbage men?"

"Why don't I come and haul it away? I'll take it to be shredded and then it won't matter. I'll take these three boxes tonight and look through them before getting rid of them. I'll flush the powder and pot down my toilet."

"That's very nice of you, Red," she said beaming at me. I liked being beamed at by Tammy. "There's no real hurry. I'm thinking about putting this house on the market. I don't need a place this large. I hear the real estate market is soft now, so when you get around to it will be fine."

"No children, I take it," I said.

"No, I couldn't have children and that became part of our problem. I wanted to adopt and Carl would have any of that. He said he didn't want somebody else's kid to raise. Carl could be a selfish prick sometimes." She looked startled and then laughed. "I should not speak ill of the dead, should I?" I suppose that is true, but ex-spouses may be the exception to the rule.

I loaded the two boxes of photos and videos and the other smaller box and left telling her I would return in a few days to get the rest of it.

I put the three boxes in my spare room. I flushed the contraband and took a couple of the albums to look at while I was in bed. While looking at Tammy's photos I was struck by two things. One, how damned hot she looked and the other thing was how hard my dick got. Yeah, I had to jack-off.

After that I lay awake for a while thinking about that key. There were thousands of private mailboxes and depositories in town besides banks, bus, train, and plane terminals. I knew I had little chance of finding the right one, but I couldn't help but wonder why Carl Effler had a locker somewhere.

I called Tammy the next morning after I got to work and asked her about it again.

"Did Carl have his mail delivered to a private post office?" I asked her. She didn't think so. Same for a bank depository.

"Except for Midtown Gym and at the police station I don't think he had any lockers," Tammy said. I glanced at the key. It wasn't our locker room key. We used padlocks or combination locks and Carl would have carried that key. Same for his gym locker, unless...damn I should have thought about a spare key. "Anyway I'm glad you called, Red," Tammy was saying. "My neighbor said you could use his pickup truck to haul the other boxes if you wanted to," she said. "Make one trip out of it that way."

I told her that was a fine idea and that I would come over on Saturday morning. I left the station house about noon and went to Midtown Gym. I wasn't a member of that gym, but a lot of cops were. They gave us a nice discount. I acted as if I belonged and no one challenged me. I found locker 621, opened it and saw two gym bags. I removed one and looked inside. Then I had to take a seat on the bench. That damned bag was stuffed full of money. All currency and all were one hundred dollar bills and tightly wrapped with a wrapper. The second bag was like the first one.

I didn't take time to count it, but there had to be at least a million dollars in the two bags. There was no way a cop could ever accumulate that kind of money honestly. No way; no how!

Just so you know, I was tempted. Hell, I'm human so of course I wondered what I was going to do with it and how I could spend it. However, my well known and well documented distain for filthy lucre soon was back in place and I zipped up the bags and put them back in the locker. I went up to the main desk and inquired when the rent or whatever was due on locker number 621.

I was informed that the locker went with membership and after convincing the nice young lady manning the desk I was Carl Effler I was informed "my" membership was good through the end of the year. I asked for and got a new locker assigned after I complained about the door sticking. I transferred the two bags to my new locker. The smelly shoes and jockstrap I tossed in the trash. The helpful and well-built lass didn't let me leave without a sales pitch on a membership upgrade.

Back at the station, I nosed around and managed to find Carl's case file. After Carl had been killed his caseload was shuffled around and given to several other dicks. As far as I could tell, Carl wasn't investigating anything that would generate that much cash so I had to start looking down his back trail. I went to Carl's old partner and asked him about Carl's death.

"Anything about the shooting bother you?" I asked him.

"What do you mean?" Sam Kidwell asked. "Every fucking thing about it bothers me."

"I mean was there ever any reason to think it was anything other than what it appeared to be? Just a bit of bad luck and poor timing?"

"Naw, it was pretty straight forward," Sam said. "Just rotten-ass luck. Why are you asking?"

"Tammy Effler called me and asked me to dispose of some stuff Carl had in the garage," I explained. "Is there anything Carl was working on that you want out of the stuff?"

"No, it's all old stale shit now. Ol' Carl was a packrat and kept everything he got his hands on. I wonder why she called you and not me."

"I have no idea," I admitted. I did have an idea. Wives of cops often don't like the partner. Cops spend as much and often more time with their partner than they do with the wife so sometimes there is a jealously factor. Back when I had a wife and a partner they were like a cat and dog.

I left Sam, but I still wondered if maybe that shoot-out wasn't contrived. I couldn't imagine how any cop could have two bags of cash and not piss someone off. Current crimes occupied most of my time for the next few days so I had to put that mystery on the back-burner.

On Friday I called the company we used to destroy documents and made an appointment to take the files the next day. On Saturday morning, I was back at the Effler house early. There I met the neighbor, one Omar Trigger.

Omar trigger was a jolly black man and it took me only a few minutes to discover why he was being so neighborly. He had his lustful eyes on Tammy. Not that I could blame him because I also had some lustful thoughts concerning her. Trigger was a large man. Not fat, just big and strong looking.

The object of our mutual lust was not helping things by wearing short shorts and a tank top when she made her appearance. Of course I could picture her completely naked from looking at her photographs...over and over.

"This is very nice of you, Mister Trigger," Tammy said after Trigger had backed his fancy pick-up to the garage door.

"Now, my dear, let's dispense with the Mister," he said. "I'm Omar and think nothing of it. I wasn't using the truck this morning."

Over my objection that I could load the boxes myself, he leaped in and helped me. That made a five minute job out of a ten minute job. He looked like he had bit into something sour when Tammy accepted my invitation to ride with me to the shredders.

"I guess you looked in the cartons to make sure there was nothing of value," Omar said after the last carton was loaded. "Nothing metal to mess up the grinders?"

"Yeah, I checked," I said. "Just papers. I'll have your vehicle back in an hour or less. I'll bring it home to you. Which house is yours?"

"That brick, right there," he answered pointing to the house to the right of Tammy's house. "No hurry so take your time." He looked at the stacked cartons as if he wasn't satisfied with my answer about the contents. "I'll be home all day, but if I'm not just leave the key in the ignition."

Tammy closed the garage door using the remote clicker in her little car. She locked the car and we drove off leaving the big black neighbor looking after us.