Unmasked: BOONE-BELL, #4

By Frederic W. Burr

It was nearly midnight on a Saturday night in early June. Boone received a call from Mazie Tucker, the wife of New York State Police Detective George Tucker, a close personal friend of Boone's.

Mazie had returned home from a night out with friends to find Tuck in his recliner, dead, apparently from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The flat-panel set was blaring a cop show, the volume turned up as high as possible.

Unable to accept her husband of thirty years would take his own life, and distressed by State Police focusing on suicide, Mazie reached out to the only person she could trust.

Marianne Bell, Boone's partner, tries to help a young woman victimized through identity theft. Even though she eventually solves the case, her client's subsequent actions, undertaken despite Marianne's advice, result in tragedy.

As Boone investigates the circumstances of Tuck's death, he is faced with two possible suspects, neither of which he feels responsible, even when one of them is charged with the murder as a result of DNA evidence. Only through dogged pursuit of available leads does he learn the identity of the killer. But will he be in time to prevent another killing?

'Unmasked' reintroduces the character of Alexandra Burton from the earlier work, 'Lens Capture,' where readers also met Tuck for the first time. Alex is now a New York State Trooper and possible ally of Boone's. Or is she something different?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frederic W. Burr
• Release date: Sep 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223925361

Frederic W. Burr

A native of Cincinnati, Ohio, Fred enlisted in the Navy at the age of seventeen, and retired in the rank of Commander in the surface warfare community. He is a graduate of the University of Louisville and the Albany Law School of Union University. Retiring from the private practice of law in upstate New York, Pennsylvania and Kentucky after thirty-six years, he considers himself a fully recovered attorney. Fred and his wife Donna (who also writes) make their home in Kentucky.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

IN THE FRIDAY morning print edition of the Albany Times Union:

June 3, 2022

Three men charged with possession of child pornography.

A Schenectady County deputy sheriff and former Town Justice, a Colonie EMT and a Rotterdam school bus driver were all arrested on Wednesday, May 25, and charged with receiving and possession of thousands of images of underage children, mostly females, engaged in sexual performances. The men, James Harrigan, aged 78, Peter Glass, aged 39, and Steven Hadley, aged 48, have all entered not guilty pleas, and are being held without bail pending County Court proceedings.

The FBI’s Child Exploitation Task Force and New York State Police Internet Crimes Against Children are jointly investigating these and other cases. More arrests are anticipated.

In an unrelated case, State Police detectives have arrested a Schoharie woman, Becky Hadley, charging her with photographing two children under the age of 5 to create child pornography.

ONE

HIS iPHONE SIGNALED an incoming call just as he was sliding the Duke Ellington album, The Columbia Years, back into its sleeve. Deborah, staying over that weekend, had already changed into her nightgown and was brushing her teeth. Looking forward to bed, and eventually to sleep, he thought of letting it go to voicemail. But curiosity got the better of him. At that hour, it had to be someone he knew, or it was work related.

Boone here, he answered.

Carl? The caller’s voice was unsteady, yet familiar.

Who is this?

Carl, it’s me. Mazie.

Mazie? Tuck’s wife?

‘Tuck’ was Detective George Tucker of the New York State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigations. Boone had worked with him for twenty years before retiring from the State Police and going private. He considered Tuck one of his closest friends. A rock- solid cop with a strong sense of ethics, Tuck had helped Boone out with several cases after he had opened his office.

Mazie? What’s wrong? What is it?

Carl, it’s Tuck. He’s . . . he . . ., her voice broke as she began crying.

What is it, Mazie?

He’s dead! she shrieked. And they’re saying he did it to himself!

Wide awake, he asked, Where are you? At the house? He must have raised his voice, because Deborah appeared in the hallway already in her nightgown, a face towel in one hand, mouthing Who is it?

He heard a noise from the other end of the line like the phone being dropped onto a hard surface before Mazie came back on the line.

Sorry. What did you say? she asked.

Are you home?

Yes.

Is anyone else there?

Yes. Some troopers. The ambulance people have already left.

Do you want me to come over?

Please. I need somebody on my side, she said. I don’t like what they’re saying about Tuck.

Okay. See you shortly, he said.

Thanks, Carl.

He disconnected the call and looked up at Deborah. I’m sorry, he said, but I have to go help someone. A friend of mine with the state police just died, and the troopers are . . .

Frowning slightly, she took a quick step back and waved him off. You can tell me later. Just go. Do whatever it is you have to do. I’ll be here when you get back.

Still in a T-shirt and jeans, he moved quickly to his hall closet and grabbed a windbreaker before slipping his bare feet into a pair of loafers. He gave Deborah a quick kiss before leaving. Picking up his wallet and keys from the small table by the door, he let himself out, locking the door behind him. After taking the stairs down to the apartment complex’s parking lot two steps at a time, he practically ran to his old Crown Vic.

As he drove the short distance from Latham to Verdoy, he tried to remember all the cases he had worked with Tuck, and private cases where Tuck helped him, sometimes risking disciplinary action. Realizing there were too many to recall without studied concentration, he concentrated on his driving. But one thing he knew for certain. Tuck would never have taken his own life.

Several state police cruisers were in front of the Tucker home on Northview Drive, forcing him to park further down the street. Despite being unoccupied, all of their vehicles were flashing red and blue light bars, engines running. Even though it was eleven-thirty at night, neighbors were coming out of their homes to gawk.

Every single light in the Tucker home seemed to be on, and he could see people walking around inside. From the shadows cast by their Stetsons against the windows, they had to be troopers. The front door stood wide open behind the screen door.

As he approached, he could see Mazie sitting on a couch, looking up as if somebody was standing in front of her. She was holding a small handkerchief under one eye and saying something.

Boone let himself in and said, I’m here, Mazie.

She jumped up and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and laying her head against his chest. Oh, Carl! Thanks for coming!

Rubbing her back lightly, he murmured, I’m here, Mazie. It’s going to be okay. He glanced at the trooper standing in front of the couch.

She leaned back, looking up at him. He took in gray streaks in her short-cut red hair he’d never noticed before. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying, makeup streaking down her cheeks. No, it won’t, she said, her breath shuddering. Nothing will ever be okay again.

The trooper cleared his throat and said, If we could, uh . . . finish up here?

From the man’s youthful face and lack of service bars, Boone took him for a recent graduate from the state police academy. Without releasing Mazie, he said, This can wait until tomorrow, don’t you think?

We’d rather get the information here than at the at the barracks, the young trooper replied, trying but failing to project authority.

Boone leaned down to whisper in Mazie’s ear. Why don’t you sit down while I talk to this young man?

She nodded and made her way back to the couch. By that point, two other troopers had joined their colleague. Boone didn’t recognize any of them.

He stepped towards the group, and said, with his left hand up and palm outward, I’m just getting my ID for you.

He reached slowly into his back pocket for his wallet. As he did so, one of the troopers, a blonde female with compressed lips glanced nervously at him and placed her hand on the grip of her service weapon.

Pulling out his wallet, Boone opened it to display his expired ID from the State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigations. Speaking softly, he said, I was on the job twenty-eight years before I retired.

Mazie is, he glanced at her and she managed a wobbly smile, a state police widow. Surely, she deserves a little compassion and consideration at a time like this, don’t you think? He was relieved to see the blonde trooper nodding and relaxing her grip on her weapon.

Just then, an older trooper emerged from a hall off the living room, and with a booming voice, said, Carl! How the hell are you?

Boone looked past the small group in front of him, saying, Norm? You still on the job?

The two men stepped around the group to shake hands and give each other one-armed hugs complete with back slaps.

Not for much longer, Norm said. Then, stepping back and turning to address the group of troopers. What seems to be the problem here?

Uh, . . . no problem, I guess, the first trooper said, holding out his notepad. I was just taking down some information from Mrs. Tucker here . . . He glanced nervously at Mazie.

Norm said, The woman has just lost her husband under the most difficult circumstances you can imagine. I’ve known Tuck and Mazie for longer than you have probably been alive. Take your little pieces of paper and go do something useful with them! The bathroom is down the hall, if you need some inspiration.

Then, turning back to Boone, he said, in a voice loud enough to be overheard, Kids! Give ‘em a uniform, a badge and a gun, and they think they own the place.

Long familiar with the Tucker residence, Boone asked, Can we step into the kitchen and talk?

Norm nodded, and the two men left the room.

Stepping into the kitchen, Boone saw dirty dishes from what looked like dinner were stacked next to the sink, with dirty glasses and assorted plasticware bowls in the sink. Everything was covered with black fingerprint powder from the crime scene techs.

He asked, What can you tell me?

Not much, Carl, Norm said.

He took his Stetson off and ran his finger around the inner leather band before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Looks pretty open and shut from what we’re seeing right now, not that I believe it. Mazie came home from a night out with her friends to find Tuck in a recliner downstairs with the television on. A Glock 22 was lying on the floor next to the chair.

He put the Stetson back on his head and leaned towards Boone. Lowering his voice, he said, From the what we’re seeing, you could say he fired one shot into the wall, maybe to get his courage up, before shooting himself in the head. But who’s to say what all the evidence will show once we analyze it?

Boone shook his head. I don’t buy it. He helped me out on a case I was working just a few weeks ago, and he seemed fine.

Norm looked at Boone with narrowed eyes. There’s no evidence of forced entry, and nothing to suggest Tuck was in a struggle of some sort. If anyone else was here, I can’t see how we’re going to prove it. The gun was a standard issue Glock 22, like Tuck carried. Crime scene techs have already been and gone and found nothing on the outside.

His mouth turned down in an exaggerated frown, Boone nodded. I’m still not buyin’ it.

You gonna be working the case for Mazie? Norm asked.

I don’t know. She just called me and asked me to come over. Not sure what I can do for her.

If you do, I don’t know how much help I can be. Our captain doesn’t like us working with the private sector. She wants everything held in-house and close. You know what I mean?

Yeah, Boone said. I know. He looked around the kitchen at nothing in particular before focusing on Norm. Well, extending his hand again, he said, Thanks, Norm. If you want Mazie to come down to the barracks, give me a call and I’ll bring her.

Okay, Carl. Norm shook Boone’s hand and left the kitchen.

Boone stayed there for a moment, thinking over what Norm had told him, and thought of a question to ask. He stepped out of the kitchen in time to see Norm standing by the front door and gesturing for the other troopers to leave. He would hold his question until after the post-mortem.

Going back into the living room, he sat down next to Mazie. Can I get you anything? Maybe a cup of tea?

Slowly taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she let it out with a slight wheeze. No, she said, but thanks. Just . . . just sit with me awhile, will you?

Turning slightly to face him, she added, But if you want something, anything at all, help yourself.

He shook his head. I’m fine.

A clock on the mantle over the fireplace began chiming midnight.

It’s late, she said. You must be tired. I know I am, but I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll have to take one of Tuck’s . . ., she caught her breath, lowered her face into her hands and again wept, rocking back and forth, her shoulders shaking.

He lightly stroked her back, saying nothing as she sobbed.

By the time the clock struck the half-hour, she had cried herself out. She dabbed at her eyes with her hanky before turning to face him. I don’t know. It . . . it just comes, like in waves. You know? I must look like hell, she said.

No, you don’t, he said, then put his arm across her shoulders.

She fell against him, and despite the awkwardness, he embraced her with both arms.

Her voice muffled by his shirt, and speaking hesitantly, she said, Will you help me?

Anything, he said.

Tuck didn’t do this, she said. And you know it.

"I don’t know anything, he said, but I have a real hard time believing it, that much I can say."

Will you look into it? Make sure their case is solid? At least that much? she asked.

I’ll do my best, he said.

Good. She made to sit up straight, and he released her.

She sighed. I . . . ah, . . . I think I can go to bed and try to sleep now.

Is there anyone I can call? he asked.

She shook her head. No. It’s late. I’m going to take one of Tuck’s sleeping pills, and I’ll call my sister tomorrow, after they’re back from church.

Is she close?

Clifton Park. Not too far.

I can swing by tomorrow if you like, help you get things organized and such.

She breathed in and out several times, scrunching her eyelids tight before responding, her speech halting. Tuck was right about you.

What do you mean?

"He said if I ever needed anything . .