S. D. Tooley - When the Dead Speak

This book is a work of fiction. Names,characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author'simagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Anyslights of people, places, or organizations is purelyunintentional.

Copyright 1999 by S.D.Tooley

All rights reserved. This book, or partsthereof, may not be reproduced in any form, or by any means,without prior written permission.

Library of Congress Control Number98-96463

ISBN 978-0-9820352-8-3

Smashwords Edition

- PROLOGUE

Legend says that overcast skies are naturesway of hiding evil, protecting the gods from seeing sinister deeds.So the clouds hovered, suspended by some unseen cosmic force. Eventhe Chicago winds werent able to blow the thick clouds away. Thesun had tried to make a showing, desperately seeking a flaw in thehaze. But it finally gave up as dusk bullied its way in, permittingthe sun one brief shining moment before sinking below thehorizon.

Like a string of dominos, expressway lightsclicked on in succession along the Bishop Ford Freeway. Athunderous crash filled the air. Billows of smoke drifted up,spewing grainey dust in front of headlights, pittingwindshields.

In an attempt to avoid another vehicle, asemi had swerved onto the median plowing headlong into the centersupport pillar of the overpass. The collision had sent the back ofthe semi fish-tailing into a jackknife. Tires screeched and rubberburned as cars and trucks slammed on their brakes. Loud, shrillhorns replaced the sound of the disintegrating column. Chunks ofconcrete pelted the cab of the semi sending the driver running forcover.

Above the cab wedged under the overpass, theconcrete pillar began to change. As if flicking a pesty insect,another piece of concrete dropped away followed by others, poundingout a musical tune on the cab.

A portion of the pillar was taking form, arecognizable shape as it seemed to shrug out of its concrete tomb.Little by little, more of its tomb crumbled away revealing a townslong-kept secret. Fingers clenched tightly, a mouth silentlyscreamed freedom. Eyes wide in terror reflected the victims lastfatal seconds.

Harvey Wilson had a story to tell. And onlyone person would be able to hear him.

Chapter 1

Most deals were made in back rooms ofcornerstone restaurants after a Closed sign had been hung inthe window, or behind closed doors in city council chambers awayfrom the public and press. But in the living room of StateRepresentative Preston Hilliards home, there was more than dealsto be made there was money.

The air was as thick as the wainscoting onthe walls and the decor as rich-looking as the socially elite thatgraced the rooms of the oldest mansion in Chasen Heights, a suburbfifteen miles south of Chicago. One hundred of the most influentialbusinessmen and women had been invited for cocktails and a buffetdinner of entrees which included Maine lobster, crab legs, andfilet mignon.

Whats your name, sweetheart? A billow offoul-smelling cigar smoke drifted toward Sams line of vision. Shehad been inhaling the stench and forcing a smile for the last twohours.

Enise, Sam replied, pronouncing it E-NUSS.She passed the six decks of cards to the distinguished man at thirdbase, the last seat to her right. He winked at her and slid theyellow cut card one knuckles width from the end.

You sure do have the prettiest blue eyes,said an elderly man sitting next to the card cutter. His droopingeyes skimmed the length of her white satin cropped top.

The heavyset cigar smoker seated to her leftleaned over to view the length of Sams frame where she stoodbehind the waist-high blackjack table.

You think she looks great from the front,you should see her from the back. His laugh came from deep withinhis water-soaked lungs ending in a coughing spasm.

Stick your tongue back in your mouth, Judge.Were here to win some money. Deal those cards, Honey. The manfront and center hadnt cracked a smile all night, deadpan, witheyes that seemed to cross-examine everyones movement for a motive.She didnt have to be a brain surgeon to determine his occupationsince he had been spewing legalese since he had arrived.

The players had been coming and goingthroughout the night depending on how long their money lasted. Allwearing tuxedos, they congregated around the bar or sat on thefloral sofa and love seat. Some wore their tuxedos quite nicely.Some looked as if they had to be squeezed through a steam rollerfirst. They were from all types of businesses and looking forwardto making some money. But the odds were against them the momentthey walked through the oak-paneled door.

Well, Enise, the banker said. Lets see afew blackjacks. Square bifocals rested on the bankers nose. Samspread out his one-hundred-dollar bills, and expertly clicked outtwo thousand dollars in black chips from the bankroll. The metaltray in front of her divided the chips by color in their respectivedenominations red for five-dollar chips, green fortwenty-five-dollar chips, black for one-hundred-dollar chips, andlavender for five-hundred-dollar chips.

Good luck, Sam told him as she slid thestack of black chips across the green felt. Another belch of foulsmoke spouted from the judge at first base. He had spilled moredrinks tonight than he had consumed. Sam kept hoping hed lose hismoney and leave but he had a royal horseshoe up his butt. The cardswere all falling his way. And he was doing stupid things likesplitting tens and doubling down on a hard twelve. He seemed to geta blackjack every third hand. And he just got another one.

YEH! the doughboy screamed. Way to go,Anus.

Thats ENISE, Sam said between clenchedteeth. I knew I should have picked a simpler name. E-NUSS.Sam clicked out seven hundred and fifty dollars in chips from thebankroll and set them by doughboys five-hundred-dollar bet. Andyou wont get another blackjack tonight if you dont pronounce myname right.

He clamped his teeth over his cigar and inhis gravelly voice said, Okay, Anus. Another phlegmy cougherupted from his throat as his chubby hands grabbed for hischips.

This night will be worth it, Sam keptrepeating in her head. Her eyes swept the room looking for thehost. He wasnt hard to miss. His eyes were as cold as gun metalwith well-defined lines etching a frame around them. Standingramrod straight, he surveyed the room as though assessing ifeveryone was worthy of his presence. He had thick silver hair andhad been working the room, going in and out, shaking hands,practically campaigning.

Sam couldnt help but notice the Remingtonstatues, and the huge stone fireplace one could almost stand in.She wondered exactly how much money was too much and doubted thewords too much were part of Prestons vocabulary.

Hey, Murphy. The attorney waved toward thedoorway where a familiar-looking man stood. Come pull up a chair.Voices and laughter spilled in through the opened door.

Sam couldnt match a name with thewell-tanned face, plastic-looking hair, and expensive jewelry. Theman ran a hand through his too-perfect shade of brown hair andstrolled over.

You know everyone, dont you, Dennis? thejudge asked.

Dennis, Sam thought. DennisMurphy. The name sounded oh so familiar. She tried to focus onthe cards she was dealing as her mind flipped through the filingsystem in her head.

It was the attorneys voice again. You allknow Captain Dennis Murphy.

Dealer busts, Sam announced in a voice shehoped sounded steady. She avoided Murphys eyes as she paid theplayers. Instead, she was searching for Jackie. Sam had never metMurphy, only seen his pictures, saw his name on several documentsat the office. Still, she half expected him to do a double-take andsay, Arent you Sergeant Samantha Casey? Of all places for Murphyto show up. But why not? Whats a friendly illegal blackjack gameamong the powers of Chasen Heights.