Houston, Texas, Fifth Ward March 1983

Chapter 1

David Mason whirled when the car door slammed. His hand streaked under his Armani coat for his gun butt.

Henry Carrington, his partner, laughed. “What’s wrong with you?”

Embarrassed, David shrugged. “Don’t know.” He took a deep breath to soothe his pulse, and scanned the area. Quiet, one-story duplex apartments lined trash-filled streets.

A lopsided grin appeared on Henry’s face. “Why don’t we split up? We’ll talk to more people, faster.”

David’s eyebrows rose. “In the Fifth Ward? Are you nuts? Cops don’t go around this place by themselves.”

As Henry adjusted his J.C. Penney windbreaker, he said, “Hell. All these people are sleeping. They’re nocturnal, like vampire bats.”

David, leading the homicide team, thought a moment. He knew they shouldn’t. Henry’s grin remained, contrasting David’s seriousness.

His partner bent and jabbed him on the shoulder with an elbow. “Come on. This place is dead. Hell. No one’s going to talk to us. They never do.”

While Henry tapped his foot on the pavement, several minutes passed and David forgot the question. He thought about the man that he’d killed two days before, and the shooting board’s findings.

“David.”

His head snapped up. “Huh? What’d you say?”

Hands on hips, Henry cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and smiled. “Yes, Mother. You take the north side. I’ll go south.”

Henry straightened and the two partners used the “anklebone express” to canvass the neighborhood. In the Fifth Ward it didn’t matter if residents witnessed anything. Getting them to talk to cops was the hardest part.

As David walked through the calf-high grass, his shined wingtips crunched, and something rolled under his shoe. Stumbling, he almost fell before regaining his balance. He glanced down at the empty wine bottle, and bent to brush dead grass off his pants cuffs. Straightening, he took a deep breath and almost gagged. Stench belching from refinery stacks nearby mingled with humid salt air from the ship channel. When rotting trash and urine added to the mixture, the odor made him flash back to burning outhouse waste in Viet Nam.

On the small apartment’s cinder block walls, graffiti in all colors told about white people’s family moral values. He smiled. The dear citizens must not like pork. They’re down on pigs.

He maneuvered his way through a minefield littered with broken bottles, cans, and expended ammunition. Several doors slammed in his face. After losing sight of Henry, he knocked on door 82B. An attractive black woman answered. On the sunny side of thirty, she wore white scrubs.

“Yes!”

“Ma’am, I’m Detective Sergeant David Mason with Houston’s Homicide Division. We’re talking to everyone in the neighborhood to see if we can find witnesses to a homicide last night.”

“What’s your name again?” she snapped.

He repeated his name.

She smiled, opened the door, and stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?”

Huh? What the hell made her change her attitude?

On unfamiliar ground, he hesitated. Although he’d spent time in these apartments, no one had ever invited him. “Yes ma’am. For a moment. I don’t want to take up your time.”

He settled into a cushioned brown leather chair, facing the door, and she sat across from him.

With an educated voice, which showed no inner city, ghetto dialect, she asked, “What can I do for you this morning?”

“My partner and I are talking to everyone in the area about a homicide a few apartments down from yours.”

She nodded and looked at him with her head cocked like she recognized him. “Are you the detective who has been in the news lately?”

He crossed his legs and leaned back. “Unfortunately, yes.” He wished the papers didn’t print all that junk. People believed it. He smoothed his short black hair and his gaze swept her apartment. Pictures hanging in unison lined two walls. He frowned, his eyes glued on one particular picture. He wondered where he’d seen the man in the picture before.

Icy fingers tiptoed up his spine. His pulse throbbed, and he adjusted his coat to allow easy access to his gun. Her fingertips tapped on her chair. “Do you think I killed someone?”

Her question diverted his attention from the picture. “No ma’am. We’re trying to find someone who saw or heard something.”

His gaze darted back to the picture. Hawks swooped in his stomach. With his ears alert, he searched the apartment.

A beautiful smile radiated across her full mouth. “I see. This is routine police work?”

With a sigh, he took out his spiral notebook and pen. He didn’t understand what made him so spooky. “Yes ma’am. Were you home?”

She adjusted herself on the sofa and shook her head. “No, I worked last night. I got home about thirty minutes ago, and haven’t changed.” She brushed her hand across her white uniform.

As he wrote, he glanced up. “Where do you work?”

“I’m an RN at Ben Taub. You can check if you like.”

He believed he was wasting his time. She wasn’t home and didn’t know anything. “It’s not necessary. Thank you. I’m sorry for bothering you. I know you need to go to bed.”

She smiled and yawned, covering her mouth with a slim hand and manicured nails. “Yes, I am tired.”

David turned and reached for the doorknob. His skin crawled. He tensed. Behind him, a smooth click-clack shattered the quiet.

A gun cocking. Shit!

His body trembled when he turned his head. She had a revolver leveled at him.

Fuck!

Her smiling lips compressed into a thin line. Hatred blazed in her eyes.

I have to move or I’m dead!

He threw himself sideways. Shocking sounds vibrated throughout the room. Searing heat exploded through him. He hit the carpet face first.

When he rolled, the sweet nurse remained motionless. Smoke drifted from her gun barrel. Another bullet crashed near his head. His cheek ripped. Carpet and dust burst in the air.

Move!

He rolled. Another round struck the floor where he’d been lying. His teeth jolted from the impact. He struggled to get his gun out. Half rolled. Another bullet smashed the carpet.

How many shots did she fire?

Thunderous vibrations from his steel-jacketed hollow point deafened him. Shocking silence drowned out ringing in his ears and his heart thumping. He raised his head to search for the woman.

He found her.

Slammed backward by the .45’s power, she sat against the wall ten feet from where she’d stood. David’s thoughts faded. With his head drooping, his eyes focused. On the floor next to her still body lay the broken picture he’d stared at before.

He blinked his eyes. Blood spider-webbed on the wall and smeared downward.

David’s gun fell from his weak hand.

Head lolled sideways, the nurse’s vacant eyes stared at him with accusation.

Black clouds crept over him. He fought the shroud, but darkness took him away.