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  BORDERLINE

  JOSEPH BADAL

  SUSPENSE PUBLISHING

  BORDERLINE

  by

  Joseph Badal

  DIGITAL EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Suspense Publishing

  Joseph Badal

  COPYRIGHT

  2015 Joseph Badal

  PUBLISHING HISTORY:

  Suspense Publishing, Paperback and Digital Copy, June 2015

  Cover Design: Shannon Raab

  Cover Photographer: iStockphoto.com/Ezekiel11

  Cover Photographer: iStockphoto.com/Ron Bailey

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks.

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  JOSEPH BADAL

  STAND-ALONE THRILLERS

  THE PYTHAGOREAN SOLUTION

  SHELL GAME

  ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  DANFORTH SAGA

  EVIL DEEDS (#1)

  TERROR CELL (#2)

  THE NOSTRADAMUS SECRET (#3)

  THE LONE WOLF AGENDA (#4)

  SHORT STORIES

  FIRE & ICE

  ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  THE ROCK

  DEDICATION

  For Susan. You are now in a better place.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First, I would like to thank all those readers and friends who enthusiastically supported my previous seven novels: Evil Deeds, Terror Cell, The Nostradamus Secret, The Lone Wolf Agenda, Ultimate Betrayal, Shell Game, and The Pythagorean Solution. Your support has helped make a dream come true.

  Thanks to the book stores and their employees that have so generously promoted my books. They are responsible in great part for my success.

  I have been fortunate to have had blurbs for my novels written by many successful and prolific authors, including Steve Brewer, Catherine Coulter, Philip Donlay, Steve Havill, Anne Hillerman, Tony Hillerman, Robert Kresge, Jon Land, Michael McGarrity, Michael Palmer, Andrew Peterson, and Sheldon Siegel.

  My thanks also go to Shannon Raab for her superb editing, cover design, and overall support. I appreciate your assistance and sound advice.

  To Stacey Cost, thank you for helping me get inside Barbara and Susan’s heads. Your kind assistance was invaluable.

  Special thanks to Anne Carstensen for her assistance with Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department and New Mexico Office of Medical Investigation procedure.

  I appreciate the technical assistance regarding mental health matters provided by Karla Ponder and Janice Badal.

  Finally, thanks to the men and women of the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department for your good work, professionalism, and courage.

  PRAISE FOR JOSEPH BADAL

  “Badal delivers a nice tight mystery and two wonderful female detectives you’ll be cheering for. Don’t miss ‘Borderline.’ ”

  —Catherine Coulter, New York Times bestselling author of “Nemesis”

  “ ‘Borderline’ grabs the reader early and never lets up. Opening with the discovery of the murder victim, a wealthy horsewoman full of sexual energy, gorgeous—and universally hated—the mystery progresses to an amazing revelation. Author Joseph Badal fills the pages with solid police work, a handsome private eye, an out-of control teenager and secret X-rated videos. In the hands of this fine writer, the story carried me along every step of the way.”

  —Anne Hillerman, Author of the New York Times bestsellers “Spider Woman’s Daughter” and “Rock with Wings”

  “A complex portrait of a fractured personality and the tenacious female detective pursuing the killer. Sharp, fast-paced, well written.”

  —Meryl Sawyer, New York Times bestselling author of “Death’s Door”

  “Thriller writer Joseph Badal turns his hand to the police procedural, giving readers the twists and turns they desire in a tangled tale of betrayal and murder. ‘Borderline’ delivers!”

  —Steve Brewer, Author of “Duke City Desperado”

  “Think Cagney and Lacey. Think Thelma and Louise. Think murder and mayhem—and you are in the death grip of a mystery that won’t let you go until it has choked the last breath of suspense from you.”

  —Parris Afton Bonds, author of “Tamed the Wildest Heart” and co-founder of Romance Writers of America and cofounder of Southwest Writers Workshop

  “Just when mystery writers thought they had the genre sewed up, in walks Badal. Now I know how musicians felt when Mozart was alive and producing! A victim who really earned what she got, a killer who didn’t deserve to be caught, and two detectives who solve crimes by working hard. What a great yarn ‘Borderline’ is!”

  —Steven F. Havill, Author of the Posadas County Mystery series

  “Joseph Badal breaks new ground in his latest novel and first mystery, ‘Borderline.’ He gets inside the heads of two female police detectives and their procedures and office politics in a way few authors could. Come to think of it, Joe constantly breaks new ground, from World War II history to financial felonies, from Army Intelligence procedures to terrorists, from megalomaniacal, sadistic terrorists to CIA officers. He never sits on his laurels and always looks for new fields to explore and explain. This one’s a winner!”

  —Robert Kresge, author of the 1870s Warbonnet, Wyoming mysteries and the Tony Hillerman award-winning Civil War spy thriller “Saving Lincoln,” and career CIA officer

  BORDERLINE

  JOSEPH BADAL

  INSPIRED BY ACTUAL EVENTS

  THURSDAY

  JUNE 24

  PROLOGUE

  “You’re a joke, a loser,” Victoria Comstock said in a razor-sharp tone that slashed at my soul and psyche. “Do you really believe you can make me change my plans?” she shouted. Venom dripped with each word. Contemptuous laughter burst from her as though a devil exhaled vile breath from deep inside. “You’re pathetic.” She pointed at a nearby wall, at a mounted trophy of a tiny deer no bigger than a small greyhound. “You’re like that weak, useless animal—put on earth to be prey.”

  The emotional pain was bad enough. Now humiliation piled on. I never felt so low, so demeaned. The tears that welled in my eyes only made me feel more useless. I had a sudden need to flee, to put as much distance between me and the woman’s words and hateful looks.

  Then something changed deep down within me. Thoughts of the pain and suffering she had caused metamorphosed into anger. She had damaged people I loved. And there were many others. Marriages destroyed. Businesses ruined. Children murdered. Victoria’s mocking laughter, the viciousness in her eyes, and the cruel slash of her mouth flipped an emotional switch.

  The shield and spears mounted next to the little deer boasted of time the woman and her husband had spent in some far off land. Symbols of expensive trips and narcissistic self-indulgence. I don’t know why, but their presence only increased my anger and pain. Something in a deep recess of my brain told me the spears had been placed there for a virtuous and noble purpose.

  FRIDAY

  JUNE 25

  CHAPTER 1

  Barbara Lassiter knew it would be self-destructive to shoot Detective-Sergeant Vince Gabelli. But she was still tempted
to draw her service revolver and fire a .38 caliber round into the center of his forehead. She forced herself to concentrate on the pile of forms on her desk and to ignore Gabelli.

  All in all, her relationships with male detectives were solid and supportive. Sure, there was a lot of good-natured banter and teasing, but that went on among the male detectives, not just between the men and women. But there was an edge to Gabelli’s teasing; a meanness that bubbled just below the surface of his jokes.

  “Hey, Lassiter, we need a lineman for touch football on Sunday,” Gabelli called out. “Or should I call you a line person? What d’ya say?”

  Barbara used the tips of her fingers to push her short blonde hair back from the side of her face and gritted her teeth. Paperwork was enough of a pain without harassment from Gabelli. She flashed a middle finger salute but didn’t look up.

  The only other detective there, Dennis Bennett, shouted, “Lay off, Gabelli.”

  “Hell, I’m not kiddin’ around,” Gabelli said. “We could use her. The State Police front line must average two twenty. Babs could anchor our defense.” He laughed as though he’d just told the funniest joke of all time.

  For the hundredth time, Barbara wished the six desks in the Homicide Division were separated by partitions. Her desk was the farthest from the entry; she felt as though she walked a gauntlet every time she entered and left the room. A perfect target for Gabelli.

  “Come on Babs,” Gabelli started up again. “We could use your . . . heft on our front line.”

  She felt her temperature rise and her face go hot. She wanted to shriek at Gabelli; but, as usual, she controlled herself. The one-finger salute was as far as she would go; she wouldn’t fall to his level. She didn’t want to be one of the boys. She just wanted to do her job and then go home for a little peace and quiet. How long would the ride on Gabelli’s ‘bullshit train’ go on? When would this chauvinistic asshole accept her as a fellow detective? She had begun to believe the answer was ‘never.’

  She wanted to look up, but knew if Gabelli wore a smirk, she wouldn’t be able to contain her rage. He loved to hassle her. Hell, he hassled every female detective in the department. He clothed his harassment in the fabric of humor. So far, he hadn’t touched any of the female employees, and there was never anything sexual about his jibes. But his comments were often hurtful and disrespectful. And, Barbara knew, making a formal complaint would mark her as a troublemaker, not one of the team.

  A wolf whistle brought Barbara out of her thoughts. She looked up and was relieved to see her partner enter the squad room. Susan Martinez’s high heels clicked on the tile floor.

  Susan appeared to ignore Gabelli’s whistle. She walked to Barbara’s desk, hitched her purse high on her shoulder, and sat on the edge of Barbara’s desk. She crossed her long shapely legs. Barbara didn’t have to look at Gabelli to know his eyes were now on Susan.

  Gabelli dropped his feet to the floor, stood, took a step toward Susan, and grabbed his crotch. “Big Vinnie’s all worked up,” he said.

  Barbara couldn’t believe what the man had just done. This was crude even for him. Gabelli had just crossed the line from hurtful jokes to pure and simple sexual harassment. Her blood boiled. She came out of her chair, to do what, she wasn’t sure. Susan’s voice stopped her.

  “Obviously, you haven’t absorbed the sensitivity training the department provides,” Susan said, coolly, deliberately. “So, rather than wait until hell freezes over for you to behave in a mature, professional fashion, I’ve decided to take things into my own hands.”

  Susan reached into her purse as Gabelli hooted. But he suddenly went quiet when she pulled out a miniature tape recorder and raised it over her head.

  “I turned this on before I came in here,” Susan said. “I guessed you’d pull some bullshit on me, just as you always do.” She put the recorder near her mouth and recited Gabelli’s name.

  She turned to Barbara. “Detective Lassiter witnessed the sexual harassment perpetrated against Detective Susan Martinez by the aforementioned detective at”—she glanced at the wall clock—“9:15 a.m. on Friday June 25.” Susan extended the tape recorder toward Barbara. “Is that correct, Detective Lassiter?”

  Barbara and Susan had joined the Sheriff’s Department on the same day, eight years ago. They were promoted to detective rank last year within three months of one another. There had been periodic incidents of harassment against Susan over that time, but she had handled them with cool detachment that always amazed Barbara. But just as Gabelli had ratcheted up the stakes, so had Susan.

  Barbara knew what could happen if she supported her partner now. They might become pariahs. No one would talk to them. And God forbid they ever found themselves in a situation where they needed backup. That backup might never show up. She didn’t meet Susan’s gaze, afraid to reveal the uncertainty she felt. But there was never any question that she would not support her partner. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes,” she said. “I saw and heard it all.”

  “Including Detective Gabelli’s comment about ‘Big Vinnie?’ ” Susan asked.

  Barbara hesitated again. Finally she said, “Yes.”

  Susan dropped the recorder into her purse and gave Barbara a “come with me” gesture. “Let’s go, partner. It stinks in here. Besides, we need this tape transcribed for our attorney . . . and then the press. The sheriff’s gonna love this, especially with elections in November.”

  She smirked, waggled her fingers at the silenced, open-mouthed Gabelli, and sauntered toward the door. “Ta-ta, Vinnie,” she said.

  Barbara grabbed her jacket and bag and slumped out behind her.

  Outside the building, Barbara dug her sunglasses from her jacket pocket and slipped them on. She could feel her heart beat in her throat.

  “It was classic, that’s what it was. Did you see Gabelli’s face?” Susan asked.

  Barbara nodded. She touched Susan’s arm. “The tape recorder was really on?”

  Susan squinted at her. “Of course not,” she said. “You think I’m nuts. I bring sexual harassment charges against that creep and I might as well give up any hope of a career as a cop. Despite the fact that all the guys think Gabelli is a Neanderthal, he’s still their teammate.” Susan grinned. “That cretin’ll suck up to us for weeks, at least. I’ll bet you dinner at Savoy he plays nice for quite a while.”

  “I give it a few days at the most. Once he discovers you didn’t file a complaint . . . . He’s going to be pissed. He’ll be worse than ever.”

  Susan winked. “It’s really not that bad, partner. We just gotta be smarter than he is. How hard can that be?”

  Barbara shrugged.

  “What say we grab a coffee at Starbucks?”

  “Okay by me,” Barbara said.

  As they walked toward the coffee shop Barbara asked, “Did you have that thing last night?”

  “What ting?’ Susan responded, imitating a Brooklyn accent.

  Barbara played along. “You know, dat ting.”

  “Oh, dat ting. Yeah, but dat ting ain’t ‘til seven tonight. We cancelled last night because Manny forgot and got home late.”

  Barbara looked at Susan out of the corner of her eye. “You guys gonna make it?”

  Susan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Barbara. We’ve got a lotta baggage. You know Manny. Typical macho man. I make more money than he does as a flight attendant. I have a degree; he doesn’t. I carry a gun.” She paused. “I guess I could buy him a gun.” The grin came back. “But I don’t think the airline would appreciate him packing heat.”

  Barbara didn’t think Susan and Manny had a prayer to save their marriage. On top of those problems, there was also the fact Manny was short—short on stature, short on creativity, and short on ambition. But he was long on talk. Barbara had never understood how the two of them got together in the first place. She knew they’d been in high school together and had married right after she graduated from the University of New Mexico. Sure Manny was Latin movie star-h
andsome. But . . . .

  Barbara thought Susan had it all—looks, brains, ambition, guts, and education. If it weren’t for her loser husband, she actually might he happy. But, maybe she was wrong, Barbara thought. Perhaps a deficient life partner was better than no partner at all.

  CHAPTER 2

  “9-1-1 operator. What is your emergency?”

  “Oh, Madre de Dios, la Senora Comstock esta muerta. She dead. Pleese, you send help queek.”

  “Ma’am, you said someone is dead?”

  “Si, Senora Vickie, she ees dead. She bleeding everywhere. Come queek, pleese.”

  “Ma’am, I need your name and address. Then I’ll put an operator on the line who speaks Spanish.”

  “Martinez, Lassiter, you’re up,” Lieutenant of Violent Crimes, Rudy Salas, shouted from his office at the end of the squad room.

  Barbara flinched. Salas’s high, squeaky voice affected her like fingernails on a blackboard. It made her head hurt. She had left the Outback Steakhouse last night after a quick dinner but, after she arrived home, she dealt with her feelings of loneliness and depression as she did most evenings. She drank a bottle of red wine and polished off half-a-box of crackers, all the while viewing some Netflix series she never really got into.

  She’d popped two aspirins when she awoke this morning. The sound of Salas’s voice made her want to down an entire bottle of the pills. She stood, waited for her head to clear, and followed Susan into the lieutenant’s office.