Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

open and he’s been badly beaten. I think he has a broken leg. He’s going to need hospitalization, can you arrange an ambulance?”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was real serious. “John, tell me you haven’t…”

I interrupted him. “I haven’t. This guy needs help, fast. We can talk about what happened afterwards.”

“All right. It’s on its way.”

I hung up. Johnson had passed out. I went to the bathroom and found some cotton wool. From the kitchen I got a couple of freezer bags. Then I mopped up the gore from his face, making sure I saturated each bud as thoroughly as I could with blood and mucus, and filled the two bags.

After five minutes, I heard the sirens approaching outside. I stood and left the apartment, ran down the stairs, climbed in the car and drove away. I didn’t go back to the hotel. I drove fast down Ladbroke Grove and turned left at the end into Notting Hill Gate. I parked outside the UPS store, then pushed into the WH Smith stationers a few doors down. I bought a padded manila envelope and a notepad. Then I went back to the car, put one of the bags of cotton wool into the envelope and wrote a note:

To Inspector John Newman

Sir, I will be able to confirm later today that this blood and mucus was recovered from the man who raped, tortured and murdered my first wife. He is an American national, resident in Arizona. I want him extradited and tried there. They have jurisdiction.

By the time you receive this I will have emailed you the results of the DNA comparison.

John

I sealed the envelope and addressed it as private and highly confidential. Then I went in and sent it to be delivered the next morning. I knew I was playing a high risk game, but in that moment I didn’t give a damn.

I drove back to the hotel and was told by the concierge that Mrs. Stone was having breakfast in the dining room. I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to nine.

She watched me cross the large, elegant dining room with narrowed eyes. As I sat, she raised an eyebrow at me. I was rescued by a waiter who asked if I would be having breakfast. I told him I’d have black coffee and a couple croissants.

When he’d gone, Dehan said, “I can tolerate anything, put up with anything and will forgive anything, except infidelity, which carries the death penalty, and being cut out, which carries a penalty worse than death.” She paused and gave me a horrible smile. “Make me happy again while I am still joking.”

I nodded a few times. “You’re right. I want you to understand that what I am going to tell you, I never told you. I have never done anything like this before, and I hope I will never do anything like it again. But I don’t regret it. The law is fine, Dehan, for generalities, but occasionally there is a particular, some unique situation, that the law cannot cover.” I shook my head. “I am not justifying anything, Carmen. I don’t care if the world approves or not. I did what I did and I would do it again, though I pray I never have to.”

She waited a moment. “What did you do, Stone?”

The waiter brought my coffee and a couple of hot croissants in a basket. I took one and broke it open.

“Dehan, there is an important difference between the British legal system and our own. It’s one, I think most cops would agree, where the Brits got it right. Back home, illegally obtained evidence is ruled inadmissible…”

She frowned at me and spoke through a mouthful of croissant. “Hereishnomph?”

“Here it is not. Here it is assessed on its probative value. If the judge deems it probative of either the prosecution or the defense’s case, it is admitted.”

She started to nod approval, then the meaning of my words dawned on her. She swallowed and said, “Oh my God, Stone, what have you done?”

“I read in Hattie’s file that she fought her attacker. She clawed at him while he raped and tortured her. They recovered his DNA from under her fingernails and ran a profile, but there was no match in the system. So I went to his apartment this morning. His address is in the Katie Ellison file. I broke in, I beat him to a pulp and saturated several cotton buds with his blood. I sent half of them to the Inspector, back home. I want him to pull strings, do whatever he has to do. Johnson has to stand trial in Arizona.”

She shook her head. “You’re crazy. Even if you pull it off, he won’t wait to be extradited. He’ll bolt. Anyway, Arizona hasn’t got jurisdiction over a murder committed in the U.K.”

“Wrong on both counts. U.S. courts have jurisdiction over any American who commits a crime anywhere in the world. And as for him bolting…” I shook my head. “He’s going to be in hospital for at least a month.”

Her expression was one of horror. “What the hell did you do to him, Stone?”

“I broke his leg. He won’t be running anywhere.”

“Stone! You could go to prison.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got there, I wanted to ask him some questions about his non-alibi, and found the door open. I saw him lying in the kitchen doorway, bleeding badly. I immediately called Harry, cleaned him up a bit and left as soon as I heard the ambulance arriving. It had slipped my mind we had a meeting with Lord Chiddester, and I didn’t want to be late.”

“You really think Harry is going to believe that?”

“No, but he doesn’t need to believe it. He needs to prove