Such Wicked Friends (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #3)

By Rod Hoisington

~ Sometimes friends are more dangerous than enemies ~
Sandy Reid stumbles over a potential client—shot between the eyes. She believes the murdered woman is asking her to find the killer. How else to explain the mysterious spot of blood she later discovers on her own hand? Then a friend kills himself. Or was it a second murder cleverly disguised as suicide? Now with two people dead, Sandy can’t resist getting involved and is drawn into a plot that stretches out to national ramifications. The third book in this fast-paced Women Sleuths Mystery Romance series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rod Hoisington
• Release date: Nov 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452494449

Rod Hoisington

Rod Hoisington lives in Florida where he devotes full-time to his compulsion to dig into the souls and lives of fictional characters. ONE DEADLY SISTER is the first novel in the popular Sandy Reid mystery series, followed by THE PRICE OF CANDY,SUCH WICKED FRIENDS, CHASING SUSPECT THREE, ALIVE AFTER FRIDAY and INTO THE HEAT.

Book preview

Chapter One

"Justice is incidental to law and order."

~ J. Edgar Hoover

Almost time. Sandy Reid was told to meet the woman in the Azul Del Mar condominium courtyard at eight. Why did the woman insist on meeting after dark like this? Okay, so she’s terrified of her husband, but couldn’t she sneak away from him and meet in our office. Didn’t make sense. And it made Sandy nervous. This was one of those times she would have patted the gun in her handbag, except she’d never carried a gun. Maybe she should start.

She parked on the roadway in front of the beachfront condominium and stepped out into a heavy gust of salty mugginess. She turned quickly to put her back to the blasting wind coming off the ocean. And walked hurriedly alongside the white stucco wall toward the courtyard entrance. On the phone, the woman had explained she’d finally found the obscene photos her husband was using to blackmail her and could now divorce him. Yeah, ditch the bastard, Sandy thought, ditch him and I’ll help you.

She turned the corner and could see that the wall ended at a wrought iron gate near the lobby entrance. She could now hear party music and laughter and see people moving around inside on the ground floor in what appeared to be some sort of community room. The gate into the courtyard area stood partially open. Someone had wedged a wad of paper into the latch to keep the gate from springing closed and locking. Maybe that wasn’t unusual, then again, perhaps she was expected and it was unlocked for her benefit.

She pushed through the gate. In the dim light, she could sense the area was well landscaped and detected the sultry sweet fragrance of Night Blooming Jasmine. She looked around. The courtyard was large and not well lighted. The luminous blue-green of a large meandering pool cast undulating shadows and lamps hidden in the flowers and shrubs created pools of light to mark the pathways. The courtyard was quiet and seemed deserted.

As she walked along the shadowed path, she could make out a woman sitting alone in a white, wrought-iron chair facing toward the far courtyard wall. At least from the back, the woman appeared young with long brown hair falling loosely over the collar of her sleeveless white blouse.

Hello? Was all Sandy could think of saying as she approached. She didn’t know the woman’s name and didn’t want to startle her. The woman didn’t answer, offered no acknowledgment at all. No one else was in the courtyard. This had to be the woman. She continued walking toward her. Excuse me. She circled and stood before her. The woman didn’t look up, and Sandy suddenly saw why.

The woman’s green eyes were frozen wide and stared straight ahead. She had a neat hole in the middle of her forehead, and blood dripped from the corner of her mouth down onto her white blouse. Sandy guessed the woman was about her own age, slightly thirty. Once she had been pretty.

Impulsively, Sandy placed two fingers on the woman’s neck. Her touch caused the body to slump sideways in the chair. She jerked her hand back, feeling stupid as she realized there wouldn’t be a pulse on a person with a bullet hole between her eyes. The danger of the situation slowly seeped through to her. She stepped away instinctively and pressed her back against the wall. She quickly glanced around. Nothing had changed. Nothing was moving. The courtyard was empty. All was quiet except for the continuous low drumbeat of ruffling waves and the merrymakers' laughter inside the building.

Her hands were shaking as she fumbled for the phone in her handbag. She steadied the phone with both hands and dialed 911. That’s when she noticed the large manila envelope resting on the woman’s lap. She clicked on Cancel instantly. She stared at the manila envelope, unable to think clearly. Of course, she would call 911, yet that envelope bothered her. Does it contain the incriminating photographs the woman mentioned on the phone?

Sandy pressed her eyes closed tightly to keep tears from welling up. She felt a sorrowful affinity for the young woman she’d never seen alive. Although someone had just blown away the woman’s remaining life, Sandy had the peculiar feeling the woman wasn’t beyond help. Whatever reputation she had enjoyed up to now could also be blown away if the envelope contained the questionable photos and if they were made public. Perhaps, the photos were from a naive youthful time before she wised up to what slick-talking men with their cameras were all about. This unfortunate woman certainly had family and friends who’d want to remember her fondly. The remembrance wouldn’t be so fond after someone publicized the photos. Of course, the police would attempt to keep the photos private. Nevertheless, dozens, if not hundreds of eyes would see them. They might be passed around and someday even end up on the Internet.

She hesitated, then reached down and carefully lifted the envelope away from the body. The padded manila envelope felt light. Nothing seemed to shake around in it, yet she couldn’t actually judge how full it was. She turned it over. The sealing tape was cut and the tabs were loose—nothing on the underside except spots of blood.

Incredibly dumb of her to be touching anything at a crime scene, she thought. Yet, if indeed the envelope contained such photos, here was the one chance to take them away and rescue at least part of this woman’s life. After all, hadn’t this woman phoned us and intended to become a client? Hadn’t she intended to have her lawyer possess the embarrassing photos? Shouldn’t her lawyer decide if they were necessary for some legal proceeding or should be destroyed? Could Sandy make that argument?

She jumped suddenly when her phone buzzed. A text from her law partner, Martin. Thanks a lot, she thought, for putting me into this mess. His text could wait. The startling sound had jarred her back to reality. She shook her head to help clear her mind of crazy thoughts.

What was she doing? Less than ninety days earlier, she’d sat for the Florida bar exam. Her career journey of study and sacrifice to that point had been long and arduous. The choices she made now would determine her success or failure as a lawyer. And becoming a lawyer was more than a dream. It was her life. As a law student, she was a cute kid running around pissing people off while doing her field investigative work for a criminal law firm. Her new profession expected more. She’d have to change her ways. She wasn’t just a badass girl anymore. No more tricking suspects and witnesses into doing what they didn’t what to do, breezing through doors marked Private and opening doors because people should have locked them. At some point, she must abandon her sassy behavior and become a proper lawyer representing law and order. Now was the time to start. This was a serious crime scene. This was evidence in her hands. She placed the envelope carefully back on the woman’s lap and took out her phone.

The bright glare of a flashlight blinded her. A man’s voice commanded, Police. Get down on the ground, lady. Face down on the ground. Now!

Chapter Two

Three hours later, Sandy sat rubbing her wrist, trying to get it all straight in her mind. She was on the second floor of the Park Beach police building in Detective-Sergeant Eddy Jaworski’s cubicle. Jaworski was a law enforcement veteran who successfully combined a sincere folksy manner with a no-nonsense cop attitude. Honest folks had nothing to fear from him. He sat comfortably in front of the computer monitor wearing his baseball cap, with the Chicago Bears’ logo, cocked down on his forehead.

Have they identified the woman yet? She thought the detective seemed cool and good-natured. Then again, he might just tell her to shut-up and let him do his job.

She’s been dead what, two or three hours? No, we don’t know who she is or even if she lives in that condo. Didn’t have a handbag for ID. You didn’t see a handbag, did you? And you say Martin Bronner didn’t get her name when she phoned him.

Didn’t get a name. Sandy shrugged, and when she put her hands down in her lap, she noticed a dirty spot on the back of her right hand. No surprise there. She’d been ordered to lie on the ground, and had sat handcuffed in the back of a patrol car. Plus, the detective had sprayed her hands with some chemical to test for gun powder residue. No, it was a stain. She tried to rub it off. Dried blood, she guessed. She slowly moved her other hand to cover the spot. She didn’t know why she was hiding it. The detective was still busy doing his pecking on the keyboard. She pointed to his cap. You a Chicago Bears’ fan? Silly question, but she wanted to make conversation.

No, I wear this cap to give me sort of a worldly look. You know, like I’ve been around, all the way to Chicago. He touched the brim and struck a slight pose for her.

Oh yeah, you nailed the look. That cap, your jeans and the black T-shirt.

He took the cap off and studied it. Seriously, I wear it because I like the colors, blue and gold. I found this cap on the street while working a Fourth of July parade. Stuck it on, thinking someone would recognize it and ask about it. Nobody did. That was three years ago. The detective swiveled and squinted at her over the top of his glasses. You know, you’re pretty cool for someone sitting in a police station at midnight after being caught red-handed with a dead body.

At that moment, she didn’t feel too cool. The detective turned back to his typing. She placed her hands on her knees so she could glance casually down. She moved her hand so the light would catch it better. The spot was dime-sized and appeared to be dried blood—except it was dark red, not brown. You don’t remember me do you, Eddy?

You’re sort of young. Couldn’t have been too long ago. Let me guess. Were you in high school and acting out at the mall? I scolded you and sent you home? I don’t know. Cops don’t remember everyone they’ve arrested.

I’ve never been arrested. And I’m definitely not under arrest now. So don’t even kid about that part.

Of course not. Your gunpowder residue test was negative. Sorry about the cuffs. They didn’t need to be on that long. After he’d first spoken to her at the scene, he had her wait in the back of his police vehicle. He cuffed one wrist and snapped the other cuff around a handle in the back seat. Sorry, I just didn’t want you wandering off while I was busy securing the crime scene.

She wanted to gain his confidence. At some point, she’d have to confess she had touched that envelope. As you know, the police manual says you should cuff both hands behind the back to inhibit the suspect from being able to brush off any GSR that might be on his hands.

Okay. So you’re sharper than I thought. Truth is, I wasn’t much worried about you. You say you’re a lawyer now? Congratulations. You’re not going to sue me for cuffing you when you weren’t actually under arrest, are you?

Geez, Eddy, I’m Sandy Reid. You gave me a burned hamburger and a warm beer at the Chief’s party last month.

His birthday party? Oh, yeah, you were with Chip Goddard. You weren’t wearing a snazzy business suit that afternoon. You were wearing white shorts.

Too bad you didn’t notice my face.

Okay, gotcha placed now, Sandy. I hear you worked for that defense law firm in Philly. Do you miss running around doing investigative work?

I sacrificed my job up there to come down here and help defend my brother against that Towson murder. As a field investigator, I ran all over the Delaware Valley doing grunt work for a firm of criminal defense attorneys.

Fancy white-collar stuff, I suppose?

Not always. My job was to find the dirty little secrets hidden in records and reports. Track down witnesses who didn’t want to be found and get answers from people who didn’t want to give answers. We defended the perpetrators. The cops were on the opposite side. But I talked to them anyway, even though they were trying to nail the guys we were defending. I got my clothes dirty, my nails broken and my ass patted. And you wonder if I miss it? Well, actually, I do.

Oh yeah, the Towson murder. You could have gone back up there after clearing your brother.

True. I hadn’t intended to live here permanently and was quite anxious over giving up that opportunity. The firm offered to pay for my final law studies and give me a staff attorney position when I got my Pennsy. Instead, I stayed down here with all the usual anxieties that come with a move into the unknown. She didn’t mention how in Florida, her love life had unexpectedly blossomed.

So both you and your brother live here in Park Beach now. What about your Philadelphia family?

Don’t have any. Mom and dad are both gone. Died in an accident on the Schuylkill Expressway. Just me and my brother Raymond now.

And you both like it here.

Well, he’s now running around Europe with his stock broker girlfriend, Meg Emerson, supposedly on business. But yes, I love it. I can drive my sports car with the top down all year and go to the beach on Christmas Day. What’s not to like?

The detective gave her a slight grin. You’d be surprised how many small-town lawyers are starving. If being a lawyer doesn’t work out for you, we could use you in law enforcement.

Thanks, but I’m not going to fail. I learned a lot about the legal side of crime from my job as a field investigator and much more from the staff of defense lawyers. I’d pester them with questions at the water cooler, corner them in the elevator and join their table uninvited at lunch. I was a joke at first, but they got used to me. As soon as I learn all the rules, I’m going to play the game better than anyone else.

I see you rubbing your hands. You okay?

Eddy, look at this. She moved over closer to his desk and showed him the back of her right hand. You see that red spot there? I think somehow I picked up a drop of that woman’s blood.

He looked down at where she was pointing with her other hand. He shook his head. I doubt you got anything from her. It’s not blood because dried blood isn’t red, and you washed your hands after I tested your hands for GSR.

I know dried blood isn’t red. That’s what's so weird about it.

I don’t get what you’re talking about, Sandy. Go wash up again if you want to. Be sure that GSR residue is off your hands. Restroom is there in the hall.

She nodded and walked to the restroom. She turned on the water in the basin and stared at the spot of dried red blood on the back of her right hand, hesitant to wash away the trace of the woman. Did she get it when she checked for a pulse or when she picked up the envelope? She didn’t remember any blood dripping on her. Had the woman touched her with a drop of blood because she wanted her involved? Yeah, right. Sandy smiled at that crazy idea. The woman’s blood. Like a sign. How had it happened? Why was that little spot so upsetting?

She washed her hands, and the spot disappeared with no problem, but she would remember the spot. She thought about the killer’s hands covered with the invisible stain of murder that could never be washed off.

When she returned to his cubicle, Jaworski was looking at a printout of his report. She asked, How did that officer get there so fast?

You interrupted a 911 call. You dial 911 and hang up in this town. The cops are going to respond. Sometimes the caller can’t speak or is otherwise incapacitated. And your smartphone has GPS. Not pinpoint accuracy, but the zone cop got lucky. You were the only thing moving in the area.

This police routine was expected. Eddy would soon finish his report, and she’d go home to bed. Tomorrow the police would investigate further. They’d check out her story. And her name would be a mere footnote in the incident report as the person who discovered the body. No problem... except for one thing. She had touched that damn envelope. Tightness took hold of her shoulders. She let out a long sigh. Could she handle this?

Let me complete this incident report and finish your statement, then you can get out of here and go conquer the world. What the hell were you doing there anyway?

I told you, Martin took the victim’s phone call. I share an office with him now.

Yeah, I know, Martin.

The vic called him earlier today. Said her husband was involved in something shady. She wanted to divorce him. Supposedly, he had some embarrassing photos of her and threatened to publicize them if she proceeded with the divorce.

Big deal. Lots of men have sexy photos of their wives they wouldn’t want pasted in the family photo album.

These are different according to her. Supposedly, her husband wasn’t one of the men in the photos with her. That throws it into a completely different category. Even though Martin was a bit upset with all she was telling him, he can’t refuse any woman asking for help. So he agreed to meet her. As soon as he hung up, he realized dealing with her wasn’t really his thing. When I came in, he pleaded for me to go instead.

Bad guys tend to do their deeds in the dark. The detective chuckled, I know Martin prefers to stay in the sunshine.

She agreed with that. Martin is definitely a sunny side of the street type fellow. I prefer a dark alley with a few creeps thrown in. My grandfather used to tell me scary stories in the dark. Doesn’t get any better than that. Anyway, I agreed to meet her. Did you tell the crime scene guys I touched the body checking for a pulse? Tell them I’m sorry. Entirely pointless, checking for a pulse when she’s sitting there with her eyes staring up, blood dripping down out of her mouth. Not smart, huh?

At least you didn’t try CPR, he chuckled.

Sandy remembered the woman was warm when she touched her neck. Also, tell the crime guys she was sitting upright before I touched her. I sort of tipped her over. Sorry about that too.

She was nearing the point where she must confess she handled the envelope even if her prints aren’t on it. She knew the crime scene crew was very thorough. Every tiny bit might have meaning. Maybe she put it back in a different position, or maybe a strand of the perp’s hair was lost when she moved it.

Did anyone hear the shot? Her thoughts were actually of the envelope. Why had she impulsively picked it up? Were there any witnesses?

Not your concern. I will say we prevented anyone from leaving the community room until we could interview them. Drinking crowds aren’t the most alert witnesses to have at a murder scene. At night, they couldn’t have seen out the windows in that room. We’ll be all night taking statements over there.

She wouldn’t soon forget the young woman sitting there in the half-dark, the shocking bullet hole, and the envelope. Something was unusual about that envelope. A large manila envelope was on the victim’s lap.

Yeah, I saw it. The M.E. guys took it with the body. They’ll check it for prints.

Did you look inside, Eddy?

Why? You know anything about it? What was supposed to be inside?

That was the exact moment, everything changed for Sandy. She could feel her heart beating. Eddy, there’s something else I must tell you. She could hardly get it out. I touched that envelope.

Touched it? He swiveled around to her quickly.

Actually, I picked it up. Never opened it. I believe I handled it by the edges, but I was shaken. I don’t think my prints are on it. Can’t say for certain. I put it right back down.

For chrissake, Sandy. He rolled himself back from the desk and stared fiercely up at the ceiling fan. "I should pick you up and shake some sense into you. What about her handbag? Did you take her handbag?"

Never saw a handbag. I’m telling you everything. Probably didn’t carry one. On the phone, said she told her husband she was just going down to the community room. Carrying her handbag might have aroused his suspicions.

Just sit there. Don’t say another word. Let me think. He took off the baseball cap and scratched his head. After a moment, Maybe in the morning, you could come back, we could get an assistant state attorney over here and discuss this whole thing. I can’t believe you did that. From what they say about you, you’ve dealt with police and crime for most of your adult life. You know the routine.

Totally stupid. I stopped thinking for a moment.

You’d better keep quiet now, counselor.

Eddy, I just remembered something that was bothering me about the envelope.

Shut up. You know the routine. You’ll make it worse for yourself. I need to check with my lieutenant.

I saw blood on the underside when I turned it over.

The detective pretended to ignore her. He began talking on the phone.

She went on, If the envelope was in her lap when she was shot, there might be blood on the top. No way could blood spatter be underneath on the bottom. The bottom of the envelope and the area of her clothes it covered should have been clean.

Shut up.

All of it was coming to her as she spoke. "Geez, that means the envelope was placed there after she was shot. Since there was blood on the bottom, the killer must have set it down on the blood that was already on her slacks."

The detective hung up and gave her a weak smile. You can’t leave. Do you know Mel Shapiro? An okay guy. Heard all the buzz tonight on his scanner. Already on his way over here.

Assistant State Attorney Shapiro strode in right on cue. He was tall, showed some early baldness, and wore at-home casual—loafers no socks. I’m missing the end of a good old movie on TV. Bette Davis was about to rip her cheating husband apart with a tongue-lashing. What’s happening, Jaworski? Oh, hello there.

She stood to introduce herself, but Shapiro spoke first, I know you—Sandy Reid. They say, don’t make eye contact with her, and if she attacks, play dead. You okay? You’re tight with Detective Goddard, aren’t you?

I was until tonight. Chip’s not going to react well to this escapade.

She’s the one who found the body, Mel.

Good for her. I understand she called 911.

She touched the body, checking for a pulse.

Ah, just like a good Samaritan.

Then she picked up a manila envelope that was on the body.

Oh god, I’d better sit down.

Sandy sat back down. "It probably made

Reviews for Such Wicked Friends (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #3)

[readerbynight · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Feisty, smart and sassy, Sandy Reid has traded in her whiplash field investigations for the courtroom...or has she? She has recently passed the bar and is now a criminal lawyer, but no staid lawyer is she. Retaining her voracious appetite for the truth, she turns the world of law on its ear.Rod Hoisington's latest mystery all begins with a more or less routine phone call from a woman to Martin, Sandy's partner, the lawyer she "rents a desk from". He passes the arranged meeting with the client over to Sandy to deal with. Martin likes his cases to be simple and civil and meeting an unidentified woman with husband troubles after dark wasn't something he wanted to take on. Unfortunately, when Sandy finds the woman, she has a bullet hole in her forehead. From that moment on, matters go from bad to worse as she is taken away, cuffed, by the police. No residue is found on her hands, but Sandy sees a fair-sized blood stain on the back of her hand, wondering why no one has mentioned it. It makes her feel connected somehow to this woman she only met in death, as though it is a plea for help. Apparently she is the only one who can see it. She must also admit to touching, in fact to picking up an envelope from the woman's lap, and though she immediately put it back, she knows this is going to go badly for her. Sandy just can't keep out of the way of her old nemesis State Attorney Lawrence Moran and his ongoing vindictiveness toward her. She made the unforgivable mistake of proving him wrong when they first met. Now, on what should be a misdemeanor, he is going to do everything in his power to have her disbarred, and power is something he has in spades. On the other hand, Sandy has a few tricks up her sleeve, too, including Martin, who is well-versed in the law, and her current beau Det. Chip Bogard, with all his police knowledge, background and friends.Enter the perennial party-goers Jenna and Brad, long-time friends of Martin, and he is introduced to Prissy, a dressed-down somewhat shapeless but nice-looking woman who zeroes in on him with lust and moneybags in her eyes. Though these people do not appear to have anything to do with the murdered woman, you just never know about people. What it does provide at this point is romantic entertainment for Martin, and the timing is right because he has just hired a caretaker for his father suffering from Alzheimers, giving Martin some worry-free freedom.As it turns out, this seemingly innocuous "marital dispute" death, simple and sad, is more than it seems and will have global ramifications. Sandy will have proven herself once again, getting shot up in the process, one tough cookie, but fun as well. As Sandy might say to Moran "Put that in your pipe and smoke it!", or probably not quite in those words. Another great Sandy Reid mystery from Rod Hoisington. He just gets better and better. This well-written story was very fast-paced, thrilling, sexy and funny by turns. I really enjoyed it.