Dawned (Circle of the Red Scorpion Book 3) Page 7

  Exacerbating the situation was his increasing preoccupation with building a case against a wealthy local businessman named Solomon Blackwell, who he suspected was a new crime boss in the area. Based on the evidence and proximity, he believed Blackwell, or his men were involved in some crimes including sexual assault, kidnapping, and murder, but he was having a hard time proving it. And he wasn't getting much support from his boss, District Attorney Stan Crenshaw. It turned out; his boss and Solomon Blackwell were close friends. It made the job of solving those crimes impossible.

  Crenshaw's very public friendship with Blackwell, a man whose life was shrouded in mystery, tainted his prestigious position as District Attorney in Broderick’s eyes. Stan allowed more than a dozen crimes to go unsolved because he refused to charge Blackwell or any of his men with a single one even though there was overwhelming evidence against them. Unexpected alibis would suddenly surface, key witnesses went missing, or physical evidence disappeared. Although Blackwell was never brought in for questioning, Broderick did question several of his men before they were quickly released against his expressed wishes. Stan always intervened saying the department had to widen their search for more viable suspects. But, it was not only Stan that was aiding Solomon, but it was also local politicians and law enforcement officials making Solomon Blackwell the luckiest man on Earth.

  The first time he met Blackwell was at a dinner party Stan hosted at his oceanfront mansion on Windermere Road. It was one of a handful of social functions he'd attended since joining the District Attorney's office. He didn't socialize much with his office colleagues. He was so focused on his cases; he had little time for anything else.

  That night, Blackwell hadn't come to Stan's mansion alone. He was flanked by his two imposing bodyguards who looked like they walked off the set of The Godfather. Their expensive suit coat jackets bulged with concealed weapons, and they radiated danger. There was no doubt if anything went down, only Blackwell and his men would make it out alive.

  The photos Broderick had seen of the eccentric millionaire in the Seattle Times made Blackwell look a bit unusual but seeing him up close, and personal put him and his jaguar on full alert. Solomon Blackwell was nearly as tall as he was in his dark gray double-breasted suit with light gray pinstripes and black leather wingtips. Solomon reminded him of one of the gangsters in The Untouchables. Where Broderick was broad through the chest and shoulders, Solomon was lean and wiry. He was reported to be in his mid-thirties. His pale blonde hair was cut short on the sides and left longer on top. He had piercing obsidian eyes. A long-jagged scar on the right side marred of his pale face, but in some circles, he would be considered attractive. He never lacked companionship and was seen with some of the most beautiful women in Seattle. There was also an aura of raw menace that emanated from him in waves. He made Broderick’s jaguar antsy and poised for an imminent attack.

  Something was off about Solomon. Could he be a were-animal? Broderick felt he had to be a predator of some kind. There was more to the man than was evident on the surface.

  When Stan introduced Broderick to him, and they shook hands, he smelled the scent of cloves. Was it his aftershave? The smell of brimstone would have been more à propos, Broderick thought cynically.

  "Mr. Devereaux, it's nice to finally meet you. Stan talks about you often," Solomon Blackwell said as he flashed a smile that never touched his cold dark eyes.

  Broderick raised an eyebrow and turned his attention to Stan. "I'm flattered, Stan," he replied wryly. "I'm not sure what I did to warrant such praise."

  Stan's face reddened with embarrassment. "I was telling Sol what an asset you are in the office."

  “Stan said you have a bright future in the DA’s office. He assigns you to the toughest cases, and you haven't lost one of them."

  "I do my best, Mr. Blackwell. I only wish I could help him with the unsolved cases we have yet to bring to trial. Our prime suspects in those cases have proven to be bulletproof. I'm starting to wonder if they have a guardian angel protecting them." Broderick's sapphire eyes leveled on him.

  Blackwell regarded him with a tight smile and gestured toward Stan. "I offered Stan the services of my private security team to help with the investigations, but he hasn't taken me up on my offer. It's the least I can do for all of the support he has given to me over the years. That's what good friends do for each other, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Devereaux?"

  Broderick clenched his jaw as he regarded Blackwell. He was a cool character, no doubt about that. Offering to help solve the crimes he and his men committed was smart. Very smart and so much bullshit. Stan Crenshaw was an idiot to align himself with someone as dangerous as Solomon Blackwell. If things ever went sideways, he would guarantee it wouldn't bode well for Stan.

  "Friends come in many varieties. What kind of friend are you, Mr. Blackwell?"

  "The very best I assure you." He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, but each word held a deadly threat. His pale hands flexed and relaxed.

  "That's what a man in New York said about the tiger he kept in his apartment until one night, his large pet ate him for dinner."

  Neither of them said a word as they glared at one another and the air between them grew thick and explosive. It would only take a spark to ignite a firestorm that would incinerate everyone in the dining room.

  Stan's eyes widened in panic. He clapped his hand on Broderick's shoulder. "I was just telling Sol what a charming wife you have," he said quickly. "She’s not only beautiful but very talented. Too bad you didn’t bring her with you tonight."

  "My wife prefers our estate on the coast to the city. It's hard to coax her away from it."

  “Unless she’s at one of her art shows,” Stan responded.

  “True,” was all Broderick said. He didn’t want to discuss his wife with Stan or Blackwell.

  "Your wife is an artist, Mr. Devereaux?" Blackwell asked.

  "Yes, and quite a good one," Stan quickly interjected. "Her paintings are exquisite. You should go to one of her art exhibitions. Her last one was so successful; she's been asked to exhibit her paintings in several art galleries in New York City."

  "Stan," Broderick growled, never taking his eyes off Blackwell. "I don't think Mr. Blackwell would be interested in my wife's artwork. I doubt his tastes run in that direction."

  Solomon's lips curled up with wry amusement. "I appreciate all things of beauty, Mr. Devereaux. Perhaps I should see your wife's work and judge for myself."

  Broderick's body started to vibrate. He didn't want that bastard anywhere near Elise. Many of the crimes he and his men were suspected of committing were against women who unwittingly trusted them and were brutalized for that trust. The women were mutilated, raped and in many cases murdered. The ones that were left alive could not recall the details of their assaults or their assailants, but the terror in their eyes told a story never revealed. In actuality, the dead women were far better off. At least they didn't have to live with the atrocities that came to them in nightmares they couldn’t explain. How would the survivors ever feel safe again? Hell no, he didn't want Blackwell breathing the same air as his wife.

  Before he could respond, Stan's butler announced dinner was ready, preventing the conversation from escalating further. Broderick heard Stan's audible sigh of relief as he quickly ushered Blackwell away from him towards the head of the table.

  Stan sat at the head of the table with Blackwell to his right. Broderick found a place near the other end of the table beside Bruce Sterns, a defense attorney and law partner of Sterns & Rafferty, a prestigious law firm in Seattle. Bruce handled the firm’s pro bono cases.

  Broderick met him while prosecuting a case against one of his clients. The man Bruce defended was clearly guilty, and they both knew it. After his client was found guilty, Bruce congratulated him on his victory. They both knew it wasn’t personal. They had a job to do and respected each other as colleagues. The difference between him and Bruce was Broderick never wanted the
criminals he prosecuted to go free, and he worked damned hard to make sure it didn’t happen on his watch.

  Down at the other end of the table, Stan and Solomon were in an animated conversation. Blackwell laughed at something Stan said and clapped him on the shoulder. Broderick gritted his teeth. He was astounded by the close relationship Stan had with the other man. Something was so unsavory about Blackwell and his security he didn’t understand why Stan didn’t see it. Or maybe he did but didn’t care. Was the reason financial gain? Stan did live a lavish lifestyle in a large mansion in a very exclusive section of Seattle. He hoped Stan knew what he was doing.

  The meal itself was excellent though Broderick didn't have much of an appetite. He lost it the moment he came face-to-face with Blackwell. Meeting him hadn't changed his opinion of him; rather it reinforced what he already thought. He was dirty, and it was up to him to prove it.

  After dinner, Broderick watched Stan and Solomon slip out of the dining room and into Stan's private study while the servants cleared the table and the guests socialized over cigars and after-dinner drinks. Blackwell's men flanked the study door, preventing him from getting close enough to use his superior hearing to find out what Stan and Solomon were up to.

  He found it odd Stan would sequester himself away with Blackwell when he had so many high-profile businessmen, local judges and the top brass of the Seattle Police Department in attendance. Stan was a widower and had no one to entertain his guests in his absence, but no one seemed to notice their host was missing.

  With nothing else to do, Broderick mingled with the other guests, all the while keeping his eyes on the study door. Thirty minutes later, the study door opened, and Stan and Blackwell returned to the dining room, Stan's face was a bit pale, and his movements were mechanical. Broderick would have chalked it up to Stan being intoxicated, but he watched him nurse the same drink throughout dinner. On the other hand, Blackwell's pale face had a healthier glow. What the hell happened in the study? It was all very bizarre.

  An attractive older woman with auburn hair pulled up in a tight chignon, and sultry green eyes entered the dining room. Broderick was surprised to see her. She was someone everyone in attendance knew. She went immediately over to Solomon and kissed him on both cheeks before greeting Stan. Trailing behind her were a dozen young women dressed in skimpy evening dresses and five-inch stilettos. Ruby St. Clair was the infamous owner of Ruby's, a private gentlemen's club located in Beacon Hill. She was a savvy businesswoman who started her career as a barmaid in a local bar downtown. She eventually married the bar owner who proposed to her soon after his wife died. He was thirty years older than Ruby when they married, and they had ten years together before he succumbed to colon cancer. After he died, she sold the bar and bought a vacant building in Beacon Hill and turned the five-story brick structure into an upscale gentlemen's club to rival those in Las Vegas. She converted the entire top floor into her private residence. She only invited her special clients to her private rooms.

  Stan's guests quickly surrounded Ruby's girls like sharks scenting blood in the water. All except Broderick and Bruce Sterns, who immediately left after Ruby arrived, claiming to have a case to prep. Broderick could tell the presence of Ruby, and her girls made Bruce uncomfortable. He probably should have left too, but curiosity got the better of him.

  Plied with booze and filled with lust, the atmosphere in the room changed. The men, most of them married, started pairing off with the women. Some of the couples, including Stan and Ruby, left the dining room for places unknown while the others settled into various sitting areas around the perimeter.

  In one corner, a beautiful blonde was sandwiched between two Superior Court judges on a burgundy couch. One judge was kissing her and fondling her bared breasts while the other judge slid his hand between her parted thighs. She moaned against the judge's lips as she rolled her hips. The Seattle Police Chief, Bruce Fontaine, sat at the dining room table with his eyes closed and his head thrown back while a young woman knelt between his legs in her red sequined mini-dress and matching stilettos, sucking his cock. His hand was entwined in her long sable black hair as he pushed her head up and down on him.

  Guttural moans drew Broderick’s attention to the other side of the dining table as one of Ruby's girls was bent face down on the table with her pale blue dress pulled up to her waist as one of Blackwell's security guards gripped her exposed ass and slammed his cock into her. A circle of men stroked their exposed erections as they watched and waited for their turn.

  Disgusted, Broderick turned away to see Blackwell sitting in a high back leather chair near the fireplace, a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other as he watched the debauchery unfold with indifference. His black eyes met Broderick's, and he smiled faintly; the scar along the right side of his face twitched in the firelight. He lifted the cigar to his lips, took a long drag, and blew out a circle of smoke that hovered in the air before drifting up and dissipating. Solomon inclined his head in Broderick's direction before turning back to watch the spectacle.

  Broderick had enough. The dinner party was quickly morphing into an all-out orgy, and he wanted no part of it. Stan was a widower so what he did in his personal life was his business, but he was married and didn't cheat on his wife. With Stan busy with Ruby elsewhere in the mansion and everyone else otherwise occupied, he made a swift exit.

  What he didn't see was Solomon Blackwell's insolent smile of satisfaction as his black eyes followed him out of the room.

  Chapter 8

  Over the next year and a half, Broderick secretly investigated Solomon Blackwell and found there was little known about him before he came to Seattle. He had various business ventures throughout Washington and Oregon; all of those businesses were a matter of public record and legitimate. But there was one business venture that he hadn't been aware of. Ruby St. Clair and Solomon Blackwell co-owned Ruby's. It made sense to him after he witnessed the display of affection between Solomon and Ruby at Stan's party. According to reports he received during previous criminal investigations, Blackwell and his men spent a considerable amount of time in Ruby’s and used the establishment and its owner as a frequent alibi. Now he knew why.

  Ruby’s offered a premier cigar lounge, a flagship restaurant, and a raised stage featuring some of the best exotic dancers in Seattle. Alcohol was only served in the cigar lounge and restaurant. The club appeared to be strictly legal on the surface, but the exotic dancers did more than swing on a pole. Exclusive carnal services were discreetly offered in the private rooms on the upper floors - ‘off limits’ to the run-of-the-mill patrons. Only select clientele was invited upstairs and only by Ruby.

  Broderick knew that because one of the Seattle Police Department detectives asked him to go to Ruby’s with him one evening after work, but he begged off. It wasn’t his scene, and he had a beautiful wife at home. If he wanted a private dance, he didn’t have to leave his home. He also didn’t want to tarnish his reputation on the off chance his presence there became public knowledge.

  The next evening over several shots of Jim Beam at a bar close to the police station, Steve Ross, the police detective, told him about the pretty little redhead he fucked in one of the private rooms upstairs.

  “She was a hot little thing, dude,” Steve said with glee. “She sucked my cock so good; I almost went blind,” he slurred. “And her pussy was pure magic. I’m going back for another taste tomorrow night. I can’t wait, and neither can my cock.”

  Broderick sipped his scotch and rolled his eyes. What the hell was Steve thinking? Stupid, unfaithful bastard. Steve’s wife, Jenny, was pregnant with their third child. She was a beat cop until she quit to stay home with their first son. She was pretty and petite but tough as nails and would hand Steve his balls if she knew where he was going after work.

  More importantly, he found out Steve Ross did security at Ruby’s quite frequently. All he had to do was ply Steve with a steady stream of shots, and the detective told him everything he kne
w. The kinky sex being performed in the private rooms upstairs, the high-profile clientele that frequented the club, the high-stakes gambling in Ruby’s private quarters. There were no incidents ever reported at the club Broderick knew of, and Steve said it was because all mishaps were handled in-house. The police never got involved.

  Even with the plethora of information he got from Steve, there was nothing he could do. Local law enforcement turned a blind eye to Ruby’s operation because some of their top brass were Ruby’s special guests and several police officers earned extra income as club security.

  Broderick grew tired of watching his corrupt boss aid and abet Blackwell and his men time after time. He had no allies in any positions of authority that could help him. Stan was up for re-election, and Broderick decided to run for District Attorney against him.

  He spent the next several months meeting voters and campaigning. He was in Seattle more than he was at home. Elise had her own busy schedule attending her art exhibitions, lavish society galas, and meetings with potential clients, so they rarely saw one another. He felt bad he was leaving his wife on her own so much, but he had to focus on winning the election. It was the only way he had a shot at bringing Solomon Blackwell down.

  Elise wasn’t very interested in attending his fundraising events and campaign rallies for a good reason and Broderick didn’t push her to. In the early stages of the race, Stan tried to accuse Broderick of using his wife’s Native American heritage to strengthen a local Indian tribe’s case to block a California real estate developer from the building of a dam on a river they deemed to be sacred. The tribe’s attorney said building a dam on the river was a desecration and diminished the tribe’s main food source. Broderick agreed with the validity of the tribe’s case when asked about it at a town hall meeting. His words of support fired up the Native American community, and they gave him their backing, giving him a political edge. Stan backed the developer who lost their case in court. The developer scrapped the project and found a new home for the luxury recreational complex in Oregon.