City By Night: A Sam Stevens Mystery Read online

  City By Night

  A Sam Stevens Mystery

  By

  J. D. Dunsford

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Introduction

  After the death of his wife, Sam Stevens is keeping his head down, working construction jobs, keeping away from the world at large. But when he finds a body at his construction site in the early hours of the morning and the first policeman on the scene attempts to kill him, Sam finds himself over his head in the middle of a vast, dangerous and tangled conspiracy, one that may force him to confront his own dark past.

  The Sam Stevens Mystery Series

  Book 1 City By Night

  Book 2 City By Night: Resurgence

  Book 3 City By Night: Requiem

  Chapter One

  He liked the early hours of the morning the best, when the streets were still and silent. He would get up at four, efficiently make himself a protein shake before a quick shower. He dressed fast and didn’t spare a look for his cramped, sparse apartment before he set out on his way to work. The one cigarette he allowed himself in the morning seemed at odds with the fresh taste of toothpaste, but he liked his morning cigarette, and he wasn’t about to give up the one vice he had let himself keep.

  At this time the city seemed like a ghost town. Every now and then somebody would wander past, either only just heading home or only just getting up; either way, none had enough energy to accost him. It was hard to imagine anyone would, really. He was a large man; tall and obviously muscular, plus he supposed he had that… quality some people had. Confidence, maybe. Self-assurance. Something that told people they shouldn’t mess with him. That wasn’t choice. It just was. Sally used to call him the ‘strong, silent type’. Other women had called him the creepy type. He wasn’t sure how to react to that. Sam couldn’t help who he was any more than he could help the events that had made him that person.

  Well, most of the events.

  He paused for a moment and took a long, deep drag of the cigarette. Something was threatening to come out now, something he had to push away. This happened sometimes. He had learned to get used to it, to know that there was no stopping what he couldn’t help. Sadness, he supposed. Only a year since he lost Sally, he supposed it was only natural. He had always considered himself strong, so things that made him seem otherwise were not things he liked. But then, he didn’t like a lot of what had happened to him recently, and there was no point complaining about that which you couldn’t change. Put your head down, do your job and count yourself lucky that you were still alive.

  The sadness was gone, replaced by his usual deep calm. Maybe that was part of the reason he woke up at this time. It was easier to feel calm when you weren’t surrounded by the chaos of the city. At this time there was nothing to disrupt your control, only what threatened to break from the inside out, and that at least he could fight back without anyone getting hurt.

  Maybe in some respects, his morning walk was part of a process, a way to get himself ready for the day by achieving a certain level of calm control. His mother used to say that how you started the day dictated the way that day would go, and starting the day with only peace was as good a way as any to avoid unnecessary pain or turmoil. He wasn’t sure whether that was true or not, but it seemed to work. For now, at least, that was enough, and enough was all anyone could ever ask for.

  The construction site he had been working on was not far from his apartment. On the one hand, this was convenient, on the other, he quite enjoyed a long walk and seeing the large fences that surrounded the site before he was ready was always a little annoying. Things snuck up sooner that anyone liked, however, and nobody was asking him to come to work this early.

  He let himself in through the gate and surveyed the expanse of the site ahead. A large hole bored into the ground, with the beginnings of a concrete foundation built in it. This would be a skyscraper to rival all the rest soon, but for now, it was just a big ugly void.

  Or at least, it was most mornings.

  He frowned. It seemed he wasn’t alone. There was a shape down in the shadows of the void, a shape that looked a lot like a person lying down. Nobody else was supposed to be here, and certainly nobody else was as willing as he was to get to work early. Besides, was anybody stupid enough to lie on concrete in the middle of a construction site?

  ‘Hello?’ he called.

  No reply. He felt his body shift almost automatically. His muscles tensed, his hands freed themselves from his pockets. Better to be ready. He began walking down the slope of dirt to the platform of flat concrete. The closer he got, the more he slowed. He could make out the person now, and he could make out the blood that surrounded her. A woman; couldn’t have been older than thirty, dressed simply in a t-shirt and jeans, not quite pretty, hair matted with blood, eyes blank and staring. Dead.

  He came to a halt just feet from her. There was a wound in her chest. A wound he didn’t need to get any closer to identify as a gunshot.

  His mind moved fast. Somebody had been killed on his construction site. Chances were it was random; a mugging gone wrong, a murderer leaving a body in the first place they thought of. But a flicker of concern suggested to him that–

  No. First principle; simplicity. He was not one to let his thoughts run away with him. There was bound to be a logical answer, and he would proceed as if that was the case. He could call the police, report the death, continue as normal. This was not his business, he was just unfortunate enough to have been the one to find the body. He turned–

  –and found he wasn’t alone.

  The policeman was young; maybe in his mid-twenties. His uniform looked like it had been put on in a hurry, and he was unshaven. His eyes were on the body, and his hand rested on the butt of his gun.

  ‘I just found her,’ Sam said.

  The cop did not reply. Sam glanced at the hand that held the gun. His knuckles were white.

  ‘I arrived seconds before you did,’ he said. ‘Did you hear anything? Was there a report?’

  The cop drew his gun.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’ Sam asked. He bent his knees, very slightly.

  There were tears in the young policeman’s eyes now. He pointed his gun at Sam.

  No.

  Sam dove forwards, moving fast and low, at the same moment as the gun went off. He hit the cop in the chest, carrying him backwards with him. The gun went flying; Sam saw it land in the dirt, but he kept his focus on pinning down the young policeman.

  ‘I didn’t do this,’ he growled, as the cop flailed against him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he snarled. ‘It doesn’t matter at all.’

  A glint of light in the corner of his eye was all the warning he had. He rolled sideways as the young cop swung the knife. It hit dirt just inches short of Sam’s head. He rolled again, his hand found the gun, and as the knife raised again, Sam brought it around and pulled the trigger. Just once, right in the heart.

  He didn’t look to make sure the cop was dead. He didn’t need to. Dusting himself off, he got to his feet. The young policeman lay on his back, knife loose in his grip, mouth open in shock, eyes as blank as the dead woman.

  Two bodies now. Sam scanned the site. No-one else here. No witnesses. Just him, a dead policeman, and a history that would make it very hard for anyone to believe he was the innocent one here.

  In the distance, he heard the shriek of a siren. Not an uncommon sound here, but more common than gunshots. Somebody would have called the
police, or they would soon. And considering what had just happened, Sam was not inclined to trust fair handling of this situation to the police.

  He crouched down beside the young man (calling him a cop seemed wrong now) and quickly went through his pockets. He took the man’s wallet, then, glancing around to make sure he was still alone, hurried down to the dead girl and did the same. He pocketed both, then, still holding the gun, made for the entrance. The siren was getting louder but was a couple of blocks away at least. Still, no chances.

  He didn’t tuck the gun into the waistband of his jeans until he reached the entrance. He paused there and scanned the street. No movement, but anybody could be watching from a window. Still, that was hardly his biggest concern. He found it hard to believe an inconvenient witness would be what damned him here.

  He started to walk.

  Chapter Two

  He arrived back at his apartment and locked the door behind him before taking a seat at his kitchen table and closing his eyes. He breathed in and out, as deeply as he could, letting what had happened turn over again and again in his head, examining it as though it was a strange trinket he was trying to find the worth of. Dead girl. Young cop. Scared. Tried to kill and frame me.

  Had the cop killed the girl? Almost definitely. But why? A crime of passion? Unlikely, not with the way police were vetted these days. But then, stranger things had happened. And if he hadn’t killed her, then what? Had he been unlucky enough to find the scene and scared enough to adopt a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach? No. Clean cops did not tend to carry knives. So what?

  The real question, in all likelihood, was where Sam fit into this. It could be a coincidence, he supposed, but he wasn’t inclined to believe in coincidence. Although all things considered, him meeting his end due to the attempted frame job of a rogue cop would almost be funny. Almost, were it not for the fact that he had every intention of continuing living.

  He looked down at the two wallets. His intentions might well be irrelevant here. But he needed some idea of what was going on before he could make that call one way or another. He opened the cop’s wallet first.

  His name had been Kayden Armstrong, according to his ID. Twenty-seven-years-old, a constable. Relatively fresh out of the academy. There were two twenty dollar notes in his wallet, along with a gym membership, library and health care cards and other things that seemed unimportant. There was a photo of Armstrong smiling with his arm around a pretty girl and would have made Sam feel a twinge of guilt if the man hadn’t tried to kill him in cold blood.

  He pocketed the money, the photo and the ID, then turned his attention to the girl’s wallet. Jane Nelson, twenty-four. So young. An organ donor, apparently, but that was about all he could figure out. Her effects were almost tailor made for him to see her as an innocent angel and while for all he knew she well might be, he also knew to never make assumptions in these cases. He pocketed her ID as well. He needed all the information he could get, and at this point, information might well be the only thing that saved him.

  He lit a cigarette. Normally he didn’t allow himself to smoke inside and he certainly didn’t allow himself more than one smoke a day, but considering the circumstances he could forgive himself that indiscretion. He needed to think, and he was going to do that better if he was at least slightly relaxed.

  Inhaling the smoke, he let his eyes scan his apartment. Plain, boring, no sign anyone of note lived here, which was his plan. His eyes lingered on the dry remains of a dead plant in the corner. How long had that been here? It was indicative of how little he was paying attention to any of this. He took another drag.

  Why would somebody want to kill him? Well, there were plenty of answers to that. But why this young cop? Could it be a coincidence? Sam doubted that very strongly. A policeman might well know some things about him, and the idea that this rookie decided to commit a murder on the very construction site where Sam Stevens happened to work was absurd. Unless of course, the cop hadn’t killed the girl, but then the situation just hit a whole new level of complicated and unlucky for him.

  He glanced at his watch. The others would be arriving at the construction site about now, which meant they had seen the bodies and noticed his absence. He had to think quick. He took another long drag. Perhaps the smartest option would have been to remain at the site and be honest; he had turned up here to find the girl and killed the cop in self-defense. But that would only save him if the situation was a coincidence, and Sam was not going to hedge his bets on that unlikelihood.

  He raised the cigarette, ready to take another drag, and was stopped by the sound of multiple footsteps in the hall. His heart rate picked up very slightly. The steps got louder and came to a halt outside his room. He took a drag and listened to the muttering. Then came the pounding on the door.

  ‘Mr Stevens? Open up. It’s the police.’

  Sam stood, taking another drag as he did. His eyes landed on the wallets. No need to incriminate himself further. He picked them up, then grabbed a satchel from the hook on the door, which was shaking as the cops pounded more. He made sure the gun remained secure in his waistband, then looked around the room again. He had no time to linger, but he had to be sure there was nothing here he would miss or need again.

  He hurried into his room and grabbed the photo of Sally from beside his bed. He stuffed it into his satchel then returned to the living area. The pounding had gotten louder; in a few seconds, they would kick in the door. He took another drag from his cigarette, then walked over to the dead plant. He placed the burning end of the smoke to one of the crisp dry leaves and waited. The yelling from outside was furious now. He focused on the leaf and the cigarette.

  In moments, the leaf had caught fire. The flame ate into the plant. Sam took a step back as the whole thing went up, the burning leaves sending up a huge amount of smoke. He slid open his window, then tipped the burning plant over. Smoke was filling the apartment now, more smoke than fire. A huge thud came from the door. Sam put one leg through the window then the next. Without looking down, he let himself drop, catching the window ledge with both hands. Another thud, followed by a crack. The door was giving way. Sam looked down. The rickety old metal fire escape was just three feet below. He let go of the windowsill just as a huge, splintering crack announced that his door had given way.

  Chapter Three

  He had long ago mapped out the safest path through the city should he have to flee. His apartment was on a rougher side of town, overlooking a narrow, grimy alleyway that led to several more narrow, grimy alleyways. He moved quickly and quietly through them until he arrived at a multi-storey carpark. He hurried up three levels until he found the battered old Chevy that was registered to one Kevin Jackson, conveniently holding his licence in the glove compartment. Sam unlocked it and stepped into the driver’s seat. He took a deep breath. His first move had to be to get out of the area. The police would not know which way he had gone, but sooner or later they would call backup, and the search would spread. He was suspected of killing one of their own, and he had also fled. That was as strong a signifier of guilt as they needed. If he wasn’t shot on sight, he would be lucky.

  Still, no use in looking suspicious when you were. He drove slowly and listened to the country station on the radio as he left the carpark and drove through the city. He nodded to the music and ignored beeping horns and rude hand gestures but all the while his eyes scanned the sidewalk for any sign of agitated cops. It was true that nobody would think him stupid enough to just drive through the city so brazenly, but then, maybe someone knew he was smart enough to seem stupid. Carelessness had killed better men than him.

  He reached the suburbs without incident. It was late morning now, overcast and grey and threatening a storm. Near the edge of the city he had switched over to the news, but there was no word of any deaths, which could be a good sign or a bad one. Either the police were waiting for more information, or they were keeping it quiet so they could deal with it quietly and not strictly legal
ly. He was inclined to suspect the latter.

  Kevin Jackson lived out past the nice suburbs, in a plain, cheap house in a rundown part of the neighbourhood. Sam let himself in and moved through the empty rooms, ignoring the dust and the cobwebs until he reached what would have been the laundry had there been anything in it. He glanced through the window into the overgrown backyard and wondered if he should try and keep it at least somewhat neat, but then, he hadn’t thought he would need to use this place anytime soon. Maybe he was getting rusty, but rusty needn’t be a problem when you had no desire to be sharp ever again.

  But that was the thing about desires. They weren’t desires if you got them.

  He knelt and ran a hand over the tiles. It only took a moment to find the one with the chipped corner. He wedged his finger in the tiny gap and pulled it open. Beneath the tile was a dark hole. It could have been deep, but Sam knew it wasn’t. He reached in and pulled out a bundle of cash, then another and another. A fair amount of money, enough for him to live better than he did, but it wasn’t meant for that. This was his contingency in case something went wrong. Something had gone wrong.

  Beneath the money was a revolver, a silencer and several rounds of ammunition. Contingencies were rarely pretty.

  In the room that would have been Kevin Jackson’s bedroom was a single armchair. Sam lowered himself into it and closed his eyes. He was sure that nobody could have followed him here, but he had to remain reasonably aware just in case. He had bought this house, along with the identity of Kevin Jackson, years ago in case of emergency, a way to disappear. The identity wasn’t foolproof, but it was more than nothing, and in his current situation Sam was very grateful for more than nothing.

  He knew what his next move had to be, even if he didn’t like it. On the off chance the police did listen to him, they would ask far too many questions that did not have palatable answers, and so solving this legally was out of the question. Sam would have to do what he hated to admit he did best and take matters into his own hands, using what he had at his disposal to follow the trail until he found answers. Success in that area was no guarantee of safety for him, but being armed with the truth was a damn sight better than the alternative. You had to know what game you were playing in order to win.