The Valedictorian (Sword and Lead Book 3) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Rhiley McCabe

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About the author

  Books in this series

  CHAPTER 1

  It was business as usual for the Fifth Precinct of the New York Police Department, and it was just another day in the office for Detective Harry Rogers. Harry was sitting in a leather chair in the office of the Chief of Police, who was on the phone. He noticed a lump was lodged in the chief’s throat, and the collar of his shirt was covered with sweat even though the air conditioning was working. The chief hadn’t said a word since Harry sat down, and the look of frustration on the chief’s face, coupled with the unusual sweating, suggested to Harry that the chief wasn’t enjoying the conversation. He couldn’t tell who was on the other end of the line, but the chief’s countenance was sufficient evidence for him to take a guess. Harry assumed the chief was either speaking with the commissioner, who was once again complaining about the increase in crime rate. Or perhaps it was the chief’s wife, for although Harry didn’t know much about his chief’s private business, he had the notion that all good cops had nagging wives, and this was an opinion he indiscriminately applied to every officer he considered competent.

  Harry reclined in his chair and wished the chief would make it snappy because his six foot three frame didn’t fit well into the chair. It was evident that the person on the other end of the line had ruined the chief’s mood, and it was going to be a long day at the office. He desperately wished to hear what the chief had to say, so he could leave the precinct and head out to follow up on the missing person case he was investigating, and maybe check in with some of his contacts to see if they might have some new information that could be useful.

  The chief dropped the receiver and turned to Harry. Agitation was visible on his face, but his voice didn’t betray his face when he spoke. “That was the commissioner on the phone. He called to remind me that the State of New York isn’t Santa Claus, and the NYPD must justify the use of taxpayers’ money. If only there were a way to make the commissioner understand that I’m not in charge of the Suicide Squad.” He paused to enjoy his joke and to see if Harry caught the pop culture reference. “Well, I called you because has been a murder and the culprit must be found as a matter of urgency. You must abandon the case you’re working on and direct your full attention to this murder.”

  Harry sat with both hands on the desk as he matched the pensive gaze of his chief. The State of New York has one of the highest murder rates in the country, and most of the cases took months and sometimes years to solve, hence the urgency with which the chief spoke suggested that the murder must have involved some high profile personality. Harry couldn’t help but wonder which Hollywood nitwit had once again strayed into the wrong side of town.

  The chief continued, “The Student Dean of New York University called me this morning to report the murder. I didn’t quite get the details, but he mentioned that the victim was a black female and an outstanding student. The first responders are currently at the crime scene. Go there and see for yourself.”

  Harry had his nose at the door when the chief called back to him, “And Harry, please try to speed this one up before the media put on a circus. You can count on me for all the resources you need.”

  Detective Harry Rogers made a quick stop at his desk and reached inside his locker for his service pistol, badge, and a pack of cigarettes. Harry was quite an unusual detective. Unusual not because he had the body of an NBA athlete and the fashion sense of a model, but because he was the only detective at the precinct (and possibly the entire NYPD) who didn’t have a partner. Several of his previous chiefs had resisted his choice of working alone and had insisted he took on a partner. But in the end they all eventually gave in, partly because Harry was thoroughly determined not to have a partner, and was known to have frustrated the partners assigned to him into deserting him. But mainly they gave in because he was an excellent detective and his decision to break protocol by working alone was a small price to pay for his crime-solving abilities.

  For many years, there had been a rumor around the precinct that as a rookie detective Harry had been investigating a nightclub he suspected to be a front for a human trafficking ring. He had invaded the club without waiting for backup, despite the protest of his more experienced partner. His partner was said to have suffered a gunshot wound that restricted him to hospital for six months and forced him into early retirement. Against all the odds, Harry was able to scrape through the disciplinary actions without losing his badge. The experience was said to have made him into an excellent detective, albeit a reckless one, capable of invading the safe house of a drug cartel without wearing a bulletproof vest. He was notoriously known to be a detective who wasn’t equipped with the right temperament to factor in his partner’s safety in his decision-making process. What is, however, remarkable, is that despite Harry’s inability to work with a partner he still maintained a healthy relationship with his co-workers. His childlike charm, combined with his impressive crime-solving abilities, made it practically impossible to dislike him. Harry’s charm made him famous in the NYPD and earned him the nickname ‘Super Harry.’

  Harry found the streets of New York too busy, yet too sluggish for the urgency his new assignment required. As he drove hurriedly past cars and skyscrapers, he tried to imagine the nature of the crime scene that awaited him. A young lady had been murdered, and it was his responsibility to uncover the culprit. His years of experience had taught him that murder is mostly a crime of passion, especially when the victim was a lady. How the murder was carried out would suggest the closeness of the culprit to the victim. Crimes of passion didn’t always involve a gun. Perhaps that was because a gun was such a mundane way to take the life of a person with whom the killer had shared intimate moments.

  Harry reached for the pack of cigarettes on the passenger seat and took one out. He dipped his hand inside the pocket of his leather jacket for his lighter, and the empty pocket reminded him that he had forgotten his lighter at the office. He opened his glove compartment and was glad that he stored an extra lighter in his car for moments like this.

  Detective Harry Rogers slowed down as he negotiated the curve that led to the campus gate. He put out his cigarette as he approached the gate, where he could see some press vehicles already parked, with a couple of reporters who wore a somber countenance, speaking into their microphones while pointing to the school. Harry felt his stomach turn at the sight of the press. He wasn’t a fan of the press (or ‘vultures’ as he sardonically called them) hovering around a case he was investigating. He could feel sweat dripping down his back, and his throat instantly felt dry. It was a familiar feeling: the feeling of racing against time to solve a murder that was soon to become a matter of national interest.

  CHAPTER 2

  Detective Harry Rogers was received at the front of the victim’s host
el by the Student Dean, a uniformed police officer and some officers of the Campus Police. The dean wore a bleak look similar to that of the students who gathered around in small groups. Harry introduced himself and was about to produce his badge, but the dean had already started walking to the crime scene. Harry followed quietly, with the uniformed officer behind him. The room was sealed with yellow tape that had ‘Keep Off’ clearly written in bold black letters. The dean opened the door and quietly stepped aside.

  Harry stood at the open door, taking in the complete details of the room. He walked to the bed where the victim was lying, lifeless, with a stab wound just below her right breast and another between her fourth and fifth ribs. He looked around the trail of clotted blood that ran from the bed to the nightstand, ending just outside the bathroom door. It was the typical hostel room with two medium-sized beds on both sides of the wall, each with a window above it. On the nightstand were a half-eaten sandwich and an empty cup of coffee. A reading table demarcated both beds, and a bookshelf was nailed to the wall right above the reading table. At the other end of the bed there was a large double closet. Pictures of the deceased were pasted on one half of the closet. Harry opened the bathroom door and took a glance. He was closing the door when the crime scene investigators arrived. He stepped out and met the dean, who was waiting outside. The dean led the way to his office without saying a word.

  “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” said the dean as he ushered Harry into his office, and motioned for him to take a seat.

  “No, thank you,” Harry replied as he took his seat in one of the two armchairs opposite the large mahogany desk.

  “The entire campus was shocked when Miss James’ roommate returned to the room and saw her dead this morning. This is quite a sad day for the University because Jennifer was one of our outstanding students,” the dean took a pause, probably to reflect on his statement, and quickly added, “Of course it would be sad to lose any student at all. I believe you have some questions?”

  Harry felt an urge to light himself a cigarette, as he could feel the sad mood around the campus beginning to rub off on him, but he resisted the urge. “I’m sorry for your loss. I would appreciate it if you can supply all available information on Miss James. Information about her family, her close friends and her associates. I would also like to speak to the campus security on duty on the night of the murder.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” said the dean, who was walking back to his seat with a cup of coffee in his hands. “However, we don’t pry into the private lives of our students; hence we don’t have information on Miss James’ private business. But we have information on her next of kin, and her roommate.” The dean began to scribble down on a piece of paper, “Either of them might be able to help you with further information.”

  “Does Miss James’ family reside in New York?” Harry asked, trying to ease into the conversation.

  “Yes, in fact,” said the dean as he took a sip of his coffee and gently placed the mug on the saucer. “In Harlem.”

  Harry felt sorry for the man sitting in front of him. It must be tough to manage the loss of a student whose death had thrown the entire University into mourning. “I don’t know the University’s policy on breaking this type of news to the family of the deceased, but I must interview them as soon as possible.”

  Harry stood up to leave, and the dean followed him to the door where he handed him a piece of paper. They paused at the door as Harry took the paper from the dean, and put it in his pocket without reading it. “The University usually sends a letter of condolence to the family of the deceased, but the case of Miss James is quite different, you know. She was going to be a valedictorian.” The dean brought out a handkerchief and blew into it. “I believe the University will send a condolence party to pay a visit to the family of Miss James.”

  Harry was now heading back to his car, accompanied by the dean. The press had made their way into the campus, and a journalist was reporting in front of the hostel with a large number of students making the backdrop. The sight of the press made Harry anxious, and he felt an urgent need to leave the campus. “I’d like to interview Miss James’ roommate and the campus security officers tomorrow. I was also hoping that there might be a resident of the Hall that may have seen or heard something strange last night.” Harry turned to look at the growing crowd that surrounded the Press, and he felt uneasy. “I would like to interview any student with additional information,” he continued, walking to his car. “This should give the University time to break the news to the family before my visit.” Harry entered his car and turned to the dean, who was standing next to the car, watching journalists interview students. “I’d appreciate it if the University can keep the press away from this case as much as possible.”

  “That is a tough ask, Detective Rogers,” replied the dean. “Miss James was the first female Valedictorian in three decades…” the dean hesitates for a few seconds before saying, “… And you know, Miss James was African American. So, even you can understand the interest of the press and the public.”

  Harry sighed and said, “I understand,” and he reached out to shake the dean’s hand. “Thank you for your help. I will be in touch.”

  The dean nodded and tried to force a smile. Harry reached for his cigarette pack and lighted a stick as he drove out of the University.

  CHAPTER 3

  Detective Harry made a stop at the CSI office to procure a copy of the evidence collected by the forensics team at Miss James’ room. An autopsy had been ordered to ascertain the cause of her death. Harry, however, knew that the autopsy was more or less a formality, as the deceased had ostensibly died as a result of injuries from a stab wound. The coroner’s office would confirm the time of death and that would at least help him to narrow down his investigation.

  At home, Harry took a long shower to steady his nerves. He was determined not to go to bed without getting a break in the case. As the warm water ran all over him, and the steam created a fog on the glass panes, Harry caught himself thinking about who could have murdered Jennifer. He refused to believe she was a victim of a random act of senseless killing. Closing the case as a random act of murder might have been a convenient way to explain it. Branding her death a hate crime with no personal motive on the part of the killer except for an inexplicable hatred for blacks would have been the obvious short cut. But to Harry, there was no such thing as a reasonable act of murder. He believed it took a certain level of irrationality and inhumanity to take the life of another in cold blood. And for this, he found nothing remotely sensible in the act of murder.

  Harry poured warm coffee from a jug into the large mug that sat on the huge table that served as his work desk. He brought out some pictures from a plastic evidence bag and placed them on the table. The image of Jennifer covered in blood forced him to take a sip of his coffee to drown the strong smell of blood he was imagining. She wore a yellow floral nightgown that stopped just below her knees. He took a closer look at her face and saw what appeared to be dried mascara-colored tears running down her cheeks. The tears suggested that she may have not died instantly, and might have been in pain after the stab. He took a closer look at the picture to check if there was any bruises on her skin, maybe as a result of resisting her assailant, but he couldn’t tell from the picture. He examined the rest of the pictures one after the other, taking minutes to verify the details of each image in the hope of finding a clue.

  After spending hours examining the pictures, Harry couldn’t find the much-needed break he desired. He decided to stop at the coroner’s office tomorrow to see if they had found something new. He emptied the remaining contents of the mug in one gulp, returned the pictures back into the plastic envelope, and went to bed.

  CHAPTER 4

  Detective Harry Rogers woke up with a positive mindset. He had a strong hunch that today he would be able to get an angle that would point him in the right direction in unraveling the identity of Miss James’ killer. As he got into his car, he m
ade a mental note to stop by his favorite hamburger joint before heading to the University for the day’s business. Little Bobby’s Restaurant was usually Harry’s first stop every morning before heading to the office. But today he wasn’t going to the office, and he just couldn’t work up an appetite before visiting the coroner’s office.

  Harry’s visit to the coroner’s office was a quick one. It was routine police business for detectives to visit the coroner’s office. He was handed a report that confirmed a diaphragm hemorrhage as the cause of death. The time of death was put between 11 PM – 12 AM. The examiner didn’t find any bruises on her body; hence nothing to suggest that the attacker had either attempted rape or had physically assaulted Miss Jennifer before stabbing her. Nothing in the autopsy pointed Harry in the direction of a potential suspect.

  Harry was a little disappointed as he drove off. Although he hadn’t expected much from the autopsy after seeing the crime scene, he had nevertheless hoped the coroner’s office might have discovered some new fact.

  At Little Bobby’s, Harry opted for take-out instead of his customary thirty minute breakfast. He decided to take the longer route to the University. He wanted to use the extra minutes to eat his breakfast and come up with an angle for his interview with Jennifer’s roommate and the campus security officers who were on duty on the night of the murder. Harry knew the roommate was vital to the investigation, and a part of him was earnestly hoping that Jennifer had been close to her roommate.

  Harry decided to head straight for the security office instead of making a stop at the dean’s office. He assumed the dean would have told the affected parties to be expecting his visit. A red haired secretary whose attention was engrossed in her phone directed him into the office of the Chief Security Officer. The CSO was a bald, middle-aged black man, and Harry caught a glimpse of his small round paunch when he stood up to shake his hand.