Page 23 of Dead O’Clock

“I don’t have time to meet with you now. I’ve got to be in court in a few hours.” Miller looked to be in his mid-fifties. His head was nearly bald and was fifty pounds underweight. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Ten supposed those were the side effects of a chronic gambling problem and too many late hours in the office. He could feel the anxiety pouring off of Miller.

“You’re going to need to take the time. It’s a matter of life and death. I’m Detective Jude Byrne and this is my partner Detective Ronan O’Mara and our consultant Tennyson Grimm.”

“Byrne and O’Mara? You’re cold case. What the hell could be a matter of life and death with you two?”

Ronan moved a pile of files off one of the chairs in front of Miller’s desk and took a seat. “The case we’re working on isn’t cold. Two lawmen have been murdered in the past two days.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that. There’s something about getting a letter and dying at midnight or something. What’s it got to do with me?” Miller looked bored.

“You’re next.” Jude held out the letter.

Miller rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on with that bullshit. I don’t have time for this.”

“If the killer has his way, you’re not going to have time for anything.” Jude sighed. “You mind if I open this?”

“Be my guest.” Miller held out a letter opener.

Jude opened the letter and read the contents. “Ding! Dong! You’re dead! Your time on this earth is near its end. Make amends, pray for forgiveness, for you die when the midnight bell tolls.”

Miller burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re here because of this ridiculous letter?”

“The last two men who’ve gotten them are dead.” Ten felt his heartrate kick up. How the hell could Miller look so calm and collected.

“Look, fellas, you want to help me? Arrest the loan sharks I owe a hundred grand to. Crack down on the illegal off-track betting rings around the state. There’s real crime happening here in Salem and you’re here because of a crank letter? Give me a break.”

Jude shrugged. “Okay, you don’t want to take the letter seriously, that’s fine. Our hypothesis is that the killer is somehow linked to the two dead men, you and potentially Detective O’Mara as well. We have a photo of the possible killer. Look at it and tell us if you know who he is and we’ll be out of your hair.” Jude set his phone in front of Miller.

Miller looked at the photo. He zoomed it out and sighed. “I know who this is. He was a former client. You know I can’t give you any details about him or the crime he was alleged to have committed.”

“We don’t need details, just the man’s name. If his case has been adjudicated then his name is in the public record. You revealing his name does not break attorney/client privilege.” This was the biggest break they’d had in this case so far.

“Look, guys, I’d like to help, but-”

Tennyson slammed his hands down on Miller’s desk, sending papers fluttering away. “If you don’t want to take this threat to your life seriously, Mr. Miller, know this, my husband is next on the killer’s list. If Ronan is murdered because you had information that could have saved him, and didn’t, I swear to-”

Ronan grabbed Ten and pulled him away from Miller’s desk. “How is he going to die, Ten?”

Ten could see it clear as day. “On his front doorstep. Miller will still think this is a prank when the doorbell rings at midnight. He’ll open the door with his right hand and in his left is a weapon. Before he can even raise the gun, the killer will stab him with the hypodermic. As he dies, his last thought won’t be about family, friends, or regrets, it will be that the loan sharks will never get any of the money he owes them.”

“You’re the famous psychic,” Miller said. “You’ve been on Dateline and in the newspapers.”

“I am,” Ten agreed, anger roiling in his gut. “Ronan and I have two kids; an eight year old daughter and a three year old son, who are about to lose a parent because there’s a killer on the loose. After you, Ronan is next and only God knows how many others are on the hit list after him. Tell us who this man is so we can find him, arrest him, and throw away the fucking key!”

“You really saw my death?” Miller didn’t sound quite as cocky as he had minutes ago.

“Yeah, you’ll be wearing your old grey sweatpants, cut off at the knee, along with your favorite Celtics championship tee. Your last meal was from the diner next door. A lukewarm cheeseburger and oily fries. Not very good as far as last suppers go.” Ten paused and took a deep breath. “Tell us the name, Eminem. Let Ronan and Jude put you in protective custody for the night so we can catch this guy.”

“Eminem? No one’s called me that since law school.” Miller sighed. “His name is Damien Rhodes. I represented him on a manslaughter charge ten years ago. We plea-bargained the case and he was sent to Walpole State Prison. As the bailiffs were walking him out of the courtroom, he started screaming that he’d get me for this. Rhodes was released from prison several months ago. He’d gotten fifteen to life, and thanks to good behavior, he only served nine and a half.”

“I don’t know that name. Do you know who he is, Ronan?” Jude asked.

“No, I have no clue.” Ronan shook his head, looking scared. “This man is somehow tied to Roderick Crews, Paul Jones, Miller, and me. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out how and go from there.”

Ten had no idea who the man was either.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.” Jude stuck his hand out to the stunned-looking public defender.

Miller reached out to shake Jude’s hand.