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  Phoenix

  A Novel

  Roy A. Teel Jr.

  Phoenix

  A Novel

  Roy A. Teel Jr.

  The Iron Eagle Series: Book Twelve

  An Imprint of Narroway Publishing LLC.

  Copyright © 2017 by Roy A. Teel Jr.

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without prior written permission of the publisher. The Iron EagleTM Logo is the copyright and registered trademark of Roy A. Teel Jr. and used by permission.

  Narroway Publishing LLC.

  Imprint: Narroway Press

  P.O. Box 1431

  Lake Arrowhead, California 92352

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-943107-05-6

  Teel, Roy A., 1965-

  Phoenix: A Novel, The Iron Eagle Series: Book Twelve /

  Roy A. Teel Jr. — 1st ed. — Lake Arrowhead, Calif. Narroway Press

  c2017. p.; cm. ISBN: 978-1-943107-05-6 (eBook)

  1. Hard-Boiled – Fiction. 2. Police, FBI – Fiction. 3. Murder – Fiction.

  4. Serial Killers – Fiction. 5. Mystery – Fiction. 6. Suspense – Fiction.

  7. Graphic Violence – Fiction. 8. Graphic Sex – Fiction

  I. Title.

  Book Editing: Finesse Writing and Editing LLC

  Cover Design and Layout: Adan M. Garcia, FSi studio

  Author Photo: Z

  For my wife – the yin to my yang

  Also by Roy A. Teel Jr.

  Nonfiction:

  The Way, The Truth, and The Lies: How the Gospels

  Mislead Christians about Jesus’ True Message

  Against the Grain: The American Mega-church

  and its Culture of Control

  Fiction:

  The Light of Darkness: Dialogues in Death: Collected Short Stories

  And God Laughed, A Novel

  Fiction Novel Series:

  Rise of the Iron Eagle: Book One

  Evil and the Details: Book Two

  Rome Is Burning: Book Three

  Operation Red Alert: Book Four

  A Model for Murder: Book Five

  Devil’s Chair: Book Six

  Death’s Valley: Book Seven

  Cleansing: Book Eight

  Rampage: Book Nine

  Dark Canyon: Book Ten

  Deliverance: Book Eleven

  “The trouble with law is lawyers.”

  — Clarence Darrow

  “The law does not pretend to punish everything that is dishonest. That would seriously interfere with business.”

  — Clarence Darrow

  Seal of The Iron EagleTM

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Pray

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Oh … and going ‘ROAD’ stands

  for ‘retired on active duty,’ and

  the answer to Agent Swenson’s

  question is … go fuck yourself.”

  The Law Offices of Cohen, Miller & Hyde were in a state of mourning. Benton Harris the third, a long-time senior partner of the firm, had been brutally murdered by fire only a week earlier. Howard Cohen, the founder of the law firm, had been on the phone with both the killer and Mr. Harris as Harris’s killer taunted both him and Benton, and Howard ended up listening as Harris was doused with gasoline and set on fire in a parking structure between the Staples Center and the Los Angeles Convention Center. The case was initially with LAPD, but the gravity of the situation and the influence of Howard Cohen as a high-powered Los Angeles attorney brought with it the ability to manipulate the system and bring the LA County Sheriff’s Department and the FBI into the investigation.

  Sheriff Jim O’Brian and Sheriff elect Samantha Pritchard were heading up the city and county investigation while John Swenson and Chris Mantel worked it from the FBI side. Swenson called a meeting at his office with O’Brian, Pritchard, and their investigators to discuss the case and their next move. Jim walked into the conference room at the federal building on Wilshire Boulevard looking haggard; Sam looked the same. He didn’t say a word, just sat at the end of the table with her next to him, pulled a cigarette out of his top left pocket, and put it in his mouth. Chris was seated with two other agents when John walked into the room.

  “Well, Sam, it’s been a whirlwind week for you, hasn’t it?” John said. Sam nodded as he put a tablet on the table and plugged a USB cable into the unit. He pressed the touch screen, and the Harris crime scene appeared on a large screen behind him in a series of six pictures and two videos from security cameras at the murder scene. John looked at Jim and asked, “Are you still on the job, or are you going ‘ROAD’ on me?”

  Jim laughed under his breath, and one of the agents asked, “What does ‘go road’ mean?”

  John went to speak, but Jim interrupted him, “What Special Agent Swenson is asking me is since the elections are over, and Sheriff elect Pritchard is going to be helping with this investigation, am I going to sit on my ass and do nothing.” Jim chomped his cigarette between his teeth as Sam and John looked on and continued, “Oh … and going ‘ROAD’ stands for ‘retired on active duty,’ and the answer to Agent Swenson’s question is ‘go fuck yourself.’” John laughed as did others in the room.

  John pointed to the photos and said, “Okay, here’s what we have. Howard Cohen gave a full description of the telephone conversation he had with Mr. Harris’s killer. The killer claimed that more attorneys are going to die and that this is a result of bad legal work.”

  Chris was typing and never responded without looking up, “Everyone in this room knows that there is way more to this than a few lawyers doing some bad case work. Whoever killed Mr. Harris has a hell of an ax to grind, and based on Mr. Cohen’s statements, the killer is not just plotting against his firm, he’s plotting against lawyers all over LA.” John nodded as the room burst into spontaneous discussion.

  It was just after noon, and Howard Cohen was reading over a motion to be submitted in a high profile divorce case that he had agreed to handle personally for one of his longtime clients when there was a light knock on his office door. He looked up to see Saul Winston, a thirty-five-year-old billionaire real estate mogul who had made his money the old fashioned way; he inherited it from his late father, David Winston, who had died
three years earlier at the age of fifty-five due to complications of multiple sclerosis.

  “Saul, what on earth are you doing here? No one paged me that you were in my building.” Saul walked with a slight limp and sat down in an oxblood leather chair. He looked haggard, and Howard walked over to him and asked, “Are you all right? You don’t look good.”

  Saul sat for a moment then put his hand on Howard’s and said, “I’m certainly not all right, Howard. I just came from my doctor’s office at UCLA.” Howard stood staring down at him and asked what happened.

  His eyes filled with tears, and he said, “I have been having some trouble, Howard. Some issues that I couldn’t put my finger on and neither could my doctors until about ten minutes ago.”

  Howard walked back behind his desk and asked, “What’s going on, Saul?”

  The man took a deep breath and asked, “How is my divorce coming? Have you heard back from Janet’s counsel?”

  “No … I am reading over a motion that I am submitting to the court later this afternoon as well as a motion to terminate your marital status as you requested, so you can move on with your plans to marry Heather Sands. I will file it in court at three. Are you okay?”

  Saul sat back and said, “No. I just received a diagnosis of MS.” Howard sat for a moment looking at him, as Saul worked hard to hold back his tears. Howard started to move toward him again, but Saul stopped him and said, “It’s okay, Howard. I didn’t know where else to go. You are the closest person I have to family since my father died and Janet and I filed for divorce five years ago. I just needed a place away from everyone until I decide what I’m going to do.”

  Howard sat back down and asked, “Is your MS like your father’s? Primary progressive?”

  Saul shrugged and said, “It’s too soon to tell. My neurologist just gave me a prescription for a drug that I have to inject every day. Right now, I’m a mess. I don’t know what’s happening, going to happen, or what kind of life I’m facing.”

  Howard sat silent for a few minutes and then asked, “You don’t want Janet or Heather learning of this diagnosis right now?”

  “I don’t want anyone to know until I wrap my head around this whole situation.”

  Howard nodded and looked at the Tiffany clock on his desk. It was ten after one. He said, “Saul, I have to be in court in a half hour on some other issues as well as your case, so I have to leave. You’re welcome to stay here in my office as long as you like. I should be done at court by five. If you leave, please call and tell me where you’re going. Okay?”

  Saul nodded and stood up. “I’m going to leave now, Howard. I just wanted you to know what’s going on. I have a lot to sort out, and since you are dealing with this nasty ass divorce, I figured you would be the place to start in this mess that’s becoming my life.” Howard tried to reassure him, but there were no words of comfort that he could muster, and Saul could see it in his face. Howard walked him out to the elevator, and the two rode down together to the main lobby, neither man talking to the other.

  It was half past five p.m., and Sara and Karen had come off a twenty-four-hour shift in the ER at Northridge Hospital. Karen had finished up with her last patient in her psychiatry practice, and the two women met in the doctor’s lounge after changing into street clothes. Karen was sitting in one of the plush chairs with her feet up, drinking a soda, when Sara walked in. “So … how did the end of shift go?”

  Sara poured herself a cup of coffee and said, “Uneventful. Strangely quiet for the week before Thanksgiving.”

  “Well, enjoy it, because in a few days they will come … the food poisonings, the overeaters with their distended bellies all thinking they have some malady not caused by stuffing themselves with food and drink.”

  Sara laughed and said, “Oh yeah, and don’t forget the heart attacks that are really just indigestion. Of course, we’ll have real heart attacks caused by holiday stress and family fun times.”

  They laughed, and Karen put her can in the recycling bin and said, “And don’t forget I have a wedding to plan for New Year’s Day!”

  “I can’t believe that you and Chris are really going to tie the knot. I mean, you kids are perfect for each other, but it is all happening so fast.”

  Karen nodded and said, “Yes and no. Chris and I have been together over a year, and with Jade and Jessica now an openly gay couple in a committed relationship, I bet we will be hearing wedding bells for them next year as well.” Sara smiled, and Karen said, “Well, I’m headed back to the house. I’m hoping that Chris and I can have a meal together.” Sara nodded as Karen walked out.

  Chapter Two

  “I hope you have damn good

  liability insurance because

  you’re in my sights now.”

  The traffic was heavy on Santa Monica Boulevard when Cynthia Caldwell exited Cohen, Miller & Hyde and headed for her car. Cynthia was the new up and coming attorney at the firm and was becoming very well known for her civil rights work with her practice being directed at high level executive women in the work force, including cases concerning equal pay, sexual harassment, and other high profile litigation. She could smell freshly brewed coffee and the hint of baked sweets riding on the evening air and decided to stop for a cup of coffee and a scone before making her way home to her all night study for the next big sexual harassment lawsuit she was bringing against a small business in the San Fernando Valley.

  Cynthia waited for the light to change and walked across the street with several people, all in a hurry it seemed. When she walked into the little shop, the owner, Mary Higgins, yelled out, “What are you doing here at night, counselor?”

  Cynthia let out a laugh as she approached the counter and said, “I was going home, but then I smelled your coffee, and I just had to stop and have a cup and one to go with a maple scone.” Mary laughed and put in her order and then leaned on the counter at the front of the shop while several of her employees waited on the crush of evening customers.

  Mary asked, “So what are you doing tonight?”

  Cynthia looked around and said, “I’m doing some research on a sexual harassment case. It’s not got a lot of teeth to it, and the company doesn’t have insurance to defend the suit, so I’m just working to try and bust them out and get all of the money I can out of them before they go bankrupt.”

  Mary shook her head slowly and said, “Cynthia, I know you’re a rising star at Howard’s firm, but, speaking as a woman and a small business owner, do you have facts to support your client’s case?”

  “Look, Mary, it’s not my problem if some small business goes out because it did wrong to one of my clients. In fact, it’s a good thing. It sends a message to the rest of LA and the area not to do bad things to women.”

  Mary handed her the coffee and scone and said, “Well, I know your client. She worked here for a short time. Did she tell you that?”

  Cynthia was taking a bite of her scone and a sip of the coffee in her hand and said, “Nope. Why? Did you sexually harass her?”

  Mary shook her head slowly while looking at her and said, “No … but she tried to pull that same shit with two of my employees right in my presence, and I fired her with cause as a result of it. Your client is a slip and fall girl, Cynthia. She’s accident prone and always out for a buck. You didn’t check her out before you took her case?”

  Cynthia just laughed and said, “I looked her up, and she’s had a few cases before the court and has won a dollar or two against businesses around LA. Look, Mary, I don’t give a shit if I can settle a case that will make me and my firm money and get me more exposure. What the fuck do I care if the woman is a con artist? I’m an attorney. It’s my job to defend her rights.”

  Mary rang up the order, and Cynthia stopped chewing and asked, “Hey! What are you doing? I always get my coffee and scone free.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before I realized you’re just anoth
er shyster lawyer, Cindy. From now on, if you come in for coffee or anything else, you pay. I will make sure my managers and employees know that as well.”

  Cynthia put the cup down and paid the bill. She looked at Mary as she put her wallet back in her purse and said, “My name is Cynthia not Cindy … got it?” Mary didn’t respond. Cynthia flung her head back with attitude, striking two of Mary’s patrons in the face with her long black hair and said, “Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be, I might just have to find someone who has been wronged by you or your business, Mary. The good thing is victims are easy to find. I hope you have damn good liability insurance because you’re in my sights now.” Mary didn’t get a chance to respond as Cynthia turned and barged her way out of the crowded shop onto Santa Monica.

  One of Mary’s male employees heard the exchange and moved up behind her and said, “With all due respect, Ms. Higgins, but you just made one of the most powerful civil rights lawyers your enemy.”

  She looked at the man with his apron covered in coffee stains and said, “Go back to work. You let me worry about her. You worry about my customers.” The man turned back to the counter and began to take an order as Mary walked back to her small office and sat down in her chair with a worried look on her face.

  The parking structure next to Cohen, Miller & Hyde was well lit, and Cynthia walked up several flights of stairs then stopped at the third level and walked out to her assigned space. Her BMW M6 convertible was automated and started without her needing to remove her key from her purse. She heard the engine start up and the door locks release as she approached. She had finished the scone while walking up the stairs and had only her purse, a small tablet carrier, and her coffee in her hands. There was the sudden sound of tires squealing from the upper level of the ten-story structure, and she saw a large black van coming at a fast speed. There were two parking spots near her driver’s side door that were unoccupied, and the van caught Cynthia off guard, and she dropped her purse and her coffee. The van sped in her direction then stopped only inches from her.