together. Then we would spend our remaining time drinking and playing cards. Never thought I’d finish solo.”
“What do you remember about the John Elijah Whitehouse case?” Dantzler asked.
Milt seemed puzzled by the question. “Eli Whitehouse?”
“Yeah.”
“Man, you’re taking me back a few years with that name.”
“What can you tell me about the case?”
“Mainly, it was Dan’s first homicide case. He worked it with Charlie Bolton. Why do you ask?”
“Did Dan ever talk about it?”
Milt shook his head. “Only that Eli was guilty, and the case went down easy and quick. Not much else, best I recall. If you want details, check with Charlie. He has a memory like a computer.”
Milt filled another cup with coffee. “Why are you asking about Eli’s case? That’s ancient history.”
“You know me, Milt. I’m a real history buff.” Dantzler stood. “Come on, Laurie. Take a ride with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To kneel at the shoes of the fisherman.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Charlie Bolton lived in a cozy brick house in the Palomar Estates subdivision, a standard three-bedroom, two- bath, two-car garage model he purchased a few years before retiring. Charlie, a cop for thirty-five years, was the grand old man in Lexington law enforcement circles, and the detective who served as mentor and rabbi for virtually every detective working there today, including Dantzler and Laurie.
No one was held in greater esteem than Charlie Bolton.
Charlie was in the front yard watering plants when Dantzler and Laurie pulled into the driveway. He cut the water, let the hose fall to the ground like a dead snake, and walked slowly toward the car. A huge smile creased his tanned and craggy face.
“Dunn, how many times did I warn you to stay away from stray dogs?” he said. “Especially a big mutt like this fellow?”
“You know me. I’m not keen on following orders.” Laurie pinched her nose. “I would hug you, Charlie, but you smell like rotten fish.”
“Indeed I do,” he answered. “It’s the smell of victory.”
“I’d hug you, Charlie, but you’re just too damn ugly,” Dantzler said, grinning.
“You’ve been with uglier, Jack,” Charlie said. “And don’t tell me otherwise.”
“Can I take the Fifth on that one?”
“The prudent thing to do, I’d say.” Charlie frowned. “Thought we were meeting at Coyle’s.”
Dantzler shook his head. “Nah. This way, I don’t have to buy you lunch.”
“You always did have alligator arms when it came time to pick up a check.” Charlie looked at the thick folder in Dantzler’s hand. “A murder book? You did get the memo saying I had retired, didn’t you?”
“A detective turns in his shield and his weapon. He never retires.”
Charlie laughed. “Where did you get that slice of wisdom? A fortune cookie?”
“Where can we talk, Charlie?”
“Sun’s gonna get hot shortly, so I vote for the kitchen.”
“Then let us tarry no longer.”
Charlie draped an arm around Laurie. “Tell me again how you put up with this mutt.”
“It ain’t easy.”
Charlie handed a can of Diet Pepsi to Dantzler and a glass of water to Laurie. “I know it’s not cool these days to drink water straight from the tap, but I don’t have any of the bottled stuff. Simply won’t buy it. No need to pay for water because someone slaps a fancy name on the bottle. H2O is H2O.”
“You’re a true Spartan, Charlie,” Laurie said. “If you were just a few years younger, I would-”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what all the young and beautiful ones say.” Charlie held out his left hand, fingers spread. “See this ring finger? Ain’t never been one on it. Know why? Cause I never fell into the female trap.”
“Ah, Charlie,” Laurie said, clasping both hands over her heart. “A Spartan
“Nope. Just a sensible man, that’s all.” He looked at the folder resting on the middle of the table. “What did you bring me, Jack?”
“John Elijah Whitehouse. What do you remember about his case?”
“Eli Whitehouse? You’re here about him?”
“I am.”
“Hell, Jack, that was twenty, twenty-five years ago. I-”
“Twenty-nine, to be exact.”
“Okay, twenty-nine. That’s a long time ago.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“You don’t see me laughing, do you?”
“What do you want to know?” Charlie asked, his fingers drumming the murder book.
“Anything. The basics.”
“It’s all in the murder book. I kept detailed notes.”
“And I’ll study them in great detail. But… for now, off the top of your head, what do you remember about the case?”
“He killed two people. Shot them both in the back of the head, execution style. The murder took place in an old barn on a piece of property owned by Eli.”
“Go on,” Dantzler prodded.
“The two vics were a couple of local street kids. Drugs were found at the crime scene, so we figured it for a drug deal that turned ugly.” Charlie sipped some coffee. “Why are you inquiring about Eli Whitehouse?”
“I met with him.”
“When? Where? Why, for God’s sake?”
“Saturday, at the prison. At his request.”
Charlie set the coffee cup on the table and shook his head. “Why did he request a meeting with you? You didn’t work the case. Hell, you weren’t even on the force back then.”
“He heard I was a first-rate cop.”
“No argument there. But, why did he want to meet with any cop?”
“Says he’s innocent. Wants me to re-open the case.”
“After all these years? Why now?”
“He’s dying. Inoperable cancer.”
“Huh.”
“He said something else, as well, Charlie. Said you thought he was innocent.”
Charlie shook his head. “That’s not exactly accurate. I never said he was innocent; I was just never convinced of his guilt. Dan, on the other hand, had no doubt about it. He was certain Eli was the killer.”
“Why did you have doubts, Charlie?”
“Damn, Jack, I need time to think about this.”
“No, you don’t. You remember every detail of every case you ever worked. Why the doubts?”
“Well, the method the killer used always troubled me. Back of the head, single shot. Like I said-execution style. That seemed awfully professional to me. Something you might see from the Mob or the KGB. But not how a civilian-a preacher-would do it.”
“Go on.”
