Shades of Knight: SpoCompton, #5

By Frank Zafiro

A family in conflict. A missing daughter. Secrets upon secrets. And time slipping away...

The Knight family is well-known in Spokane, thanks to the family patriarch, Solomon, founding a regional grocery chain. Each of Solomon's adult children seem to have gone their own way. Jocelyn is a cop. Nicky is a criminal. Susan and Harold are both striving to make it in the business, each in their own way. Marigold is an artist.

And Lily, the youngest and frailest of them, is missing—sucked into the dark recesses of the drug world.

When Solomon calls his children to band together to find their sister, all of them agree to help. But each has their own struggles and their own secrets. Will they find Lily before she is too far gone to save? What will they each sacrifice to rescue her?

Shades of Knight is book #5 in the hard-boiled SpoCompton series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Zafiro
• Release date: Jul 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224018833

Frank Zafiro

Frank Zafiro was a police officer from 1993 to 2013. He is the author of more than two dozen crime novels. In addition to writing, Frank is an avid hockey fan and a tortured guitarist. He lives in Redmond, Oregon.  

Book preview

1

Nicky

Nicky didn’t like Burnaby much. Years ago, he’d have argued that this fact made his job easier. These days, he knew better. Enjoying your work too much was just as dangerous as regretting it. Especially when a lot of the work happened in alleys like this one.

Come on, man, Burnaby pleaded. Give me a break. It’s not my fault.

Not your fault? Damon growled.

Damon stood a half step further away from Burnaby than Nicky did. It wasn’t a status thing so much as it was practical. Despite his stocky muscular frame, Damon wasn’t the enforcer here. He was the boss’s number two, though Nicky was doing his best to push him a little for that distinction. Nonetheless, it was Damon who did the talking. If it came to getting physical, that was Nicky’s role.

He knew how to do it, too. He crowded Burnaby’s space a little. Made him sweat. Forced him to edge backward, a little closer to the dumpster behind him. Burnaby constantly glanced from Nicky to Damon, worried about what one might say and what the other might do. Nicky figured he had to have a pretty good idea what was coming.

Sorry, Burnaby said. "I’m not saying it’s not my responsibility. It is, I know. It’s just what happened wasn’t my fault."

Your guy Ink got popped.

Yeah.

"With all your product."

Burnaby nodded.

Damon crossed his arms, glaring at him. Pretty stupid to have his entire load with him where he was selling, don’t you think?

Totally stupid, Burnaby agreed. He’s an idiot.

Yet you hired him. What’s that make you?

Burnaby gave him a weak grin. Unlucky?

Damon grinned back, his expression dark. Oh, definitely.

Burnaby’s smile faltered. He’s gone, Day. I promise.

"Gone, gone?"

Welllll… no. Burnaby lifted his palms beseechingly. I thought that was only for extreme cases. I thought Jake said —

Nicky jackhammered him in the kidneys with a short chopping right.

Burnaby yelped and collapsed to a knee, clutching at his side. He didn’t bother to stand up right away, just hung his head and moaned.

"That’s a name you don’t ever use," Damon said flatly.

Sorry, breathed Burnaby.

Hell with your sorry, Damon squatted slowly so that his head was even with Burnaby’s. Look at me.

Burnaby obeyed. His face was clenched in pain, but Nicky could see the fear laced in there, too.

There’s a concern, Damon said in a low voice, that your guy didn’t actually get arrested at all. That you made that shit up thinking you could get out from under.

That’s not true, Burnaby whined.

Nicky hated it when they whined. But he’d come to expect it from losers like Burnaby. If he was the one making the decisions, the dealer would have been left out in the cold long ago. Anyone who whined that much was unreliable.

His knuckles itched. He wanted to punch Burnaby again but waited.

Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, Damon said. "It’s a concern. But what you need to know is that things don’t work that way. You or him going to jail is not a get out of jail free card with us. You follow me?"

I know that. I —

We’ve got people inside, too.

Burnaby gulped and nodded. I get it.

You took delivery up front. We trusted you. You don’t want to screw that up.

Of course not.

Stand up.

Damon stood. Burnaby followed suit, rising slowly, his expression apprehensive, as if he expected to be hit again at any moment.

Which was entirely possible, Nicky allowed.

Now, here’s the thing. Damon crossed his arms again. The motion hid his small hands behind his bulging biceps. I’ve asked around. No one saw any police cars around the abandoned house Ink was selling out of. No lights, no uniforms. Why’s that?

Burnaby scowled. Who said that?

Nicky looped a left directly into Burnaby’s gut. He didn’t catch the man completely by surprise this time, but it didn’t matter. The blow landed solidly in his solar plexus. Burnaby grunted and sank to his knees again. Nicky leaned down and gave him a shove. Burnaby bounced off the dumpster behind him and collapsed in a ball on the alley floor.

You learning? Damon asked.

Burnaby couldn’t speak but he groaned and nodded.

Stand back up.

Burnaby slowly struggled to his hands and knees, finally planting a foot on the ground. He started to rise, then winced and stopped. He remained on one knee, hunched over and clutching at his midsection.

Damon seemed to lose interest in whether he stood or not. Why is it there were no cop cars around this supposedly huge bust of your boy Ink?

Burnaby swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and labored. It… was… a narc, he said. Undercover.

Oh, that explains everything. Damon looked over at Nicky. It was an undercover cop with an undercover car. That’s why no one saw anything.

Burnaby nodded.

"And this must’ve been a supercop, huh? Like in the movies? Because he made this arrest all by himself, and didn’t call in backup, ever? Not even a single cruiser to haul Ink away to jail? He just did it all himself, this Die Hard with a Doper cop?"

Guess so, Burnaby wheezed. I wasn’t there.

Damon smiled coldly. Neither was Ink, was he? Nobody got arrested in that house, Burnaby. No cops took our dope. This is all just a dumb ass scam you concocted.

No!

Yes.

Burnaby shook his head violently. Day, I swear to God—

You think we’re stupid? Damon asked. Jail bookings are public record, moron. The information is online. We checked. Ink was never arrested like you said. So how about you tell us what really happened?

That’s impossible. He told me —

"You’re putting it off on him now?"

No, I’m just sayin’ that —

Nicky’s phone buzzed loudly. A single buzz, signifying a text.

The small distraction was all Burnaby needed. The skinny dealer shot to his feet and bolted away in the opposite direction.

Damon cursed. Nicky took off after Burnaby before he’d finished the word. He pumped his arms and took long strides, keeping his eyes pinned on Burnaby’s back. The dealer was surprisingly quick. He scampered over the six-foot chain link fence at the end of the alley with ease. Nicky slowed, taking the fence more carefully. He wanted to catch Burnaby, sure. Wanted to pummel him. But he didn’t want to tear his suit either.

By the time he landed in the deserted lot on the other side, all he caught of Burnaby was a streak of movement as he went around the corner of the building. He took off after him, sprinting hard. His feet lost purchase on some loose gravel. He slowed, windmilling his arms to retain his balance. When he reached the corner of the building, he stopped and surveyed the scene.

Foot traffic in the Perry district was heavy this time of the morning. The heat of the day hadn’t entirely hit yet. All the coffee shops and other hipster stores did a brisk business. Plenty of people to camouflage Burnaby.

He set off down the block, scanning as he walked. Maybe Burnaby was hiding behind one of the planters on the sidewalk. Or had ducked into one of the stores. He slowed as he passed each window, peering inside. He saw nothing.

At the end of the block, he ran into Damon, who must have circled back the other direction. The foreman scowled. You didn’t catch him?

Nicky held up his empty hands. Must’ve slipped through one of the shops and out the back or something.

How’d you let him get away in the first place?

Nicky frowned. My phone. I got a text message. That gave him a split-second.

"Your phone?" Damon shook his head in disapproval. I oughta crack you upside the head with the damn thing.

Where’s he gonna go? Nicky asked, trying to redirect the conversation. We’ll find him.

Damon pointed one of his stubby fingers at him. "You’ll find him. You lost him."

Because God forbid you do some dirty work, huh, Damon? Big shot foreman and all.

I’ll find him, Nicky said.

Damon didn’t reply. He turned and headed toward the car.

Nicky followed. As he walked, his phone buzzed again. He pulled it out and checked the texts. Both were from his father.

Come to dinner tonight.

It’s important.

Nicky put his phone away.

Dinner with his father. That was always such a joy. He never knew what he was going to get. Sometimes they’d eat like normal people, pretending that Nicky didn’t crack skulls for a living. Other times, he’d have to endure not-so-veiled attempts to get him to go straight, even go into the family business. To grow up, as his father put it.

Thanks, Pop, he thought. I’m just fine.

But your timing is absolutely marvelous.

Nicky reached the green Yukon. Damon waited at the passenger door impatiently while he double-clicked the fob. Then they both got in and went to give the boss the bad news.

2

Jocelyn

Tell me, Detective, the defense attorney said in a barely disguised sneer, did you recognize my client immediately?

Yes, Detective Jocelyn Knight said evenly. I did.

She knew he was baiting her into saying how she knew him. It was a trap. The judge had ruled in an earlier hearing that the fact that she’d arrested Eric Tumalo multiple times throughout her career was prejudicial and the jury couldn’t know it. If the defense attorney could trick her into saying it, the result would be a mistrial. And good luck getting the DA to re-file charges. Tumalo would walk.

The defense attorney, a slick, expensive-suit-wearing prick if she ever saw one, waited a beat before following up. He was probably hoping that she’d feel compelled to fill in the silence, perhaps with a mention of the arrests.

No chance, pal.

Jocelyn sat in the witness chair, her face a mask of professionalism, and waited.

The defense attorney strung out the moment as long as he could before moving on. You testified earlier that you detained my client?

Yes.

And searched him.

Is that a question?

A couple of jurors tittered. The defense attorney frowned at her, then glanced up at the judge. Jocelyn knew that Her Honor was likely frowning down from the bench at her as well. Being argumentative wasn’t considered entirely professional. Being a smart ass was worse. But her training officer had burned a few things into her brain, one of which was that when you testified, answer the question you’re asked, and nothing more. Of course, later on, she added the sarcasm herself.

When no admonition came from the judge, the defense attorney continued. I’ll try to be clearer, he said smoothly. You testified earlier that you searched him as well, correct?

I did.

And that you found some items of jewelry?

Yes.

Did you interview Mr. Tumalo?

I did.

Did he offer you an explanation for his possession of that jewelry?

Yes.

Do you recall that explanation?

I do.

The defense attorney waited. When Jocelyn didn’t elaborate, he let out the barest of exasperated sighs. What was that explanation?

He said the rings belong to his grandmother. They were an inheritance, he claimed.

He claimed?

Jocelyn shrugged. Or lied. Take your pick.

Objection, the defense attorney said immediately. The witness is offering an opinion. Not only that but one which casts aspersions on my client without foundation, your honor.

The judge did intervene this time. Stick to the facts, Detective, unless you’re specifically asked for a professional opinion.

Yes, your honor.

To her left, Jocelyn heard some jury members shifting in their seats. She didn’t risk a glance to gauge their reaction. Instead, she stared directly at the defense attorney.

Some gloating leaked through the lawyer’s expression. Despite my client’s explanation, you arrested and charged him with theft anyway, the defense attorney said. Why?

Jocelyn glanced up at the judge, raising her eyebrows questioningly. She didn’t understand why this attorney would get her chastised for offering an opinion and then immediately turn around and ask her opinion. Nevertheless, the judge gave her a ‘go ahead’ nod. Jocelyn turned back to the defense attorney. Because I didn’t believe him.

Clearly not, the defense attorney said, then moved ahead quickly before the prosecutor could object. Earlier we saw pictures of the rings in question. Two plain gold bands and a wedding ring with a one-point-two carat diamond.

He turned and hit a button on the remote clicker he held. The photos of the stolen rings appeared on the large display screen.

Are these those same rings? he asked.

Yes, Jocelyn replied.

And —

Her phone buzzed loudly.

The defense attorney stopped. He let out a plaintive whine. Your honor?

Jocelyn tried not to react. It was a rookie move, forgetting to put the phone on silent. But there wasn’t a second buzz, so it must have been a text. Reaching for the device now would only make matters worse.

Making them worse seemed to be on the defense attorney’s agenda. He raised his eyebrows dramatically. Is that an emergency, Detective?

No.

Because I’m sure the judge would grant a recess if —

It’s not. Please continue.

He paused a little longer, letting the moment draw out. Then he said, Now, you testified that Ms. Thibault identified the wedding ring as hers.

That’s because she did.

Yes, he said. And she testified to that as well. But… He raised a finger and hesitated. I’d like to ask you about that identification process. Where did you show her this ring?

I brought it to her house.

And how did the identification occur?

Jocelyn stared at him a moment, as if he were stupid. Which he wasn’t, she knew, but it was a stupid question. Well, I laid the ring on the table in front of her and asked if it belonged to her. She said —

Her phone buzzed again, as insistent as a circling hornet.

The defense attorney raised his eyebrows. He let out a second, whinier, Your honor?

Detective, the judge admonished.

I’m sorry, your honor. She grabbed her phone and quickly put it on silent. In the brief moment that the device was lit up, she saw the origin of the text: Dad.

The defense attorney waited as long as he could. Then he said, Thank you, Detective. Now, please tell us what Ms. Thibault said.

The prosecutor rose and objected. Your honor, we have this testimony from Ms. Thibault, and that’s best evidence. I fail to see why defense is belaboring the issue. If you recall, he objected to Detective Knight’s statement earlier as hearsay. Why this reversal?

The judge turned to the defense attorney. Counselor?

Your honor, this goes toward the lack of particularity of the items and to law enforcement’s prejudicial focus on my client. The detective’s experience informs both of these, and these are the foundation of our defense.

The judge considered a moment. Then she said, I’ll allow it. You may answer the question, Detective.

The attorney turned to Jocelyn expectantly.

She said the ring belonged to her, she said simply.

Was that all?

I asked if she was sure, and she said yes.

The defense attorney nodded as if it were exactly the answer he wanted. Now, you said earlier that my client offered you an explanation as to why he had the rings. He inherited them from his grandmother?

That’s what he said.

Yes, you’ve made it clear that you didn’t believe him. Did you make any attempt to confirm if his grandmother had, in fact, died recently?

No.

So, you believed she was still alive?

I didn’t have an opinion on that, Jocelyn said.

"Would you agree that, logically, my client’s grandmother was either alive or