Fair Play: Detective Paul Friedman Thrillers, #1

OTHER BOOKS BY GUNNAR ANGEL LAWRENCE

THE PERFECT DAY

THE CONSORTIUM (coming soon)

REVIEWS FOR THE PERFECT DAY

The Perfect Day was absolutely gorgeous. It was filled to the brim with action, suspense, thrill, and detail. The way the ending ties into the first book blew me away as well. I was given this book by the author as a pre-release and I was thrilled to read it. I read the first book, Fair Play, and was anticipating this release for a while! I’ll be shouting out this book for all to hear, and I highly recommend picking it up the day it comes out! – IA Book Reviews

A nail-biting thriller!

Gunnar Lawrence’s book hooked me from the first page. The author has woven a story full of surprising twists and turns. How does a homeless man figure in a series of seemingly unrelated murders? What does the killing of illegal immigrants have to do with the past war in Iraq?

The descriptions are spare, but they draw the reader right into the scene.

The characters are so well-drawn that I felt like I wanted to help that homeless man, assist that woman and her daughter; and they weren’t even the main characters!

It’s a novel with graphic violence that isn’t gruesome. That is a difficult thing to pull off.

The chapters give the reader different perspectives on the unfolding drama, but it is all woven into a tight story. The subtle romance in the book doesn’t depend on sex or the ‘hottest looking...’ It’s real and poignant. The Perfect Day is a story with meat on its bones and heart in its plot. A book that I highly recommend. – Aya Walksfar

The Perfect Day by Gunnar Angel Lawrence was a constant emotional turmoil. I sat at the edge of my seat wondering and waiting what was going to happen next. It was gruesome at times with what some of the characters were doing with their torture techniques and there were times I didn’t think I could go on but I knew I had to. The story even took over my dreams as I thought about what I had just read. It was that powerful.

The author was very detailed and careful to select the proper description in the scenes so, as readers, we could not just imagine what was going on but also feel it. This is good and bad, whereas, good because it took the reader into the story, making it more of a personal connection. Bad because while I was there in some of the scenes, I felt myself clenching my chest waiting for the anticipated action and often destruction that had me at the verge of tears that were filled with heartbreak and anger at the same time.

I don’t want to give anything away but The Perfect Day is a story about terrorists bringing their hate into the United States. They planned to hit multiple cities at the same time and called their plan The Perfect Day because, for them, it would be. I was surprised to read that they had made allies with the most unexpected group I would have never thought of, but it was only done with the idea that one group thought they would use the other for their own purpose and then eliminate their enemy when they were no longer of any use to them. Of course!

In the story, you get so many points of views that if you skip anything you can easily miss a vital piece of information needed to understand what is going on. – Sandra Rivas

FAIR PLAY

Prologue: 8 months ago

Judge Bob Maxwell pulled into his garage more than a little pissed off. It had been a lousy day. He slammed on the brakes bringing his sedan to a halt with a squeal on the concrete pad. His blood sugar was dropping and he felt the need for a meal. For just a moment, he sat in the driver’s seat, engine running. Retirement and several solid years of deep-sea fishing was a week or so away. He had wanted to retire with a conviction and ‘go out on top’ but that was not to be. He swore to himself, turned off the ignition, exited the vehicle and shut the door. Suddenly, the overhead garage light clicked off leaving him in complete darkness.

Damn. Maxwell said. The light usually gave him enough time to get to his door and in the house. He opened the car door and reached into the dash to click on his headlights. Navigating his way through his darkened garage was more than a little dangerous. The gleam from the headlights inside the confined space of his garage made the shadows dance eerily on the walls. Had these movements of shadow and light not disoriented him, he may have seen the dark figure step out from behind him. He did not.

Maxwell heard the step behind him and felt the needle slide into his neck before he could react. Cold fluid flowed into his blood stream quickly as he turned to see the intruder. He fell to his knees and glanced up at the face of his attacker.

What have you done? the figure asked him coldly. Maxwell gasped once and fell into unconsciousness.

ii

The figure stood for a moment over his victim. The white-hot rage that led him to this garage, this night, evolved into the sobering realization that he had no choice. He bent over, dragged the frail Maxwell to the car and took the head of his victim in his hands. With the slightest bit of hesitation, he contemplated Maxwell’s fate, tightened his grip and slammed the skull into the floor. The hollow crunch of bone meeting concrete sounded oddly like a melon smacked against a kitchen counter. Blood flowed from Maxwell’s wound and began to pool around his head.

He had killed before but this was different. In war, you fire your weapon, sometimes at random into the area where the enemy is. When your bullet found its mark in the enemy, sometimes you would see the man stumble backwards and fall dead. At other times you would never know.

Up close, he was able to see the life flow out of his victim, able to see his last breath. He opened his victims eyelids and watched as the pupils expanded for the last time pulling in the last light he would ever see. He could see his reflection in those dying eyes. This war he was in now was a different kind of war. And he was a different kind of soldier. He was fighting a war for justice, what more noble pursuit was there?

He scooped up Maxwell’s keys, slid behind the wheel and started the ignition. He turned to stare intently into the face of this man who had failed. He had failed and had to pay the price. Justice must be done. He left the garage as silently as he had slipped in. The war had begun and he had much planning to do.

****

Day One

5:45am

Detective Paul Friedman was jarred out of his dream by the obnoxiously loud buzzing of the cell phone on his bedside table. He reached over halfway expecting his dream Beyonce to still be there, she wasn’t. He grabbed the phone, hit the button with his thumb, Friedman.

Silence.

Paul Friedman, who’s this please?

Scuffling.

Paul sat up pressing his ear to the phone, straining to hear.

Heavy breathing.

A gasp and nothing more.

He flipped the receiver around to look at the caller ID. It was a call from Glenn Kelley’s cell phone. Kelley was his good friend and former partner.  The veteran cop who trained him how to work the streets of Orlando, Florida for the four years before his promotion to Detective.  Kelley wasn’t the type to play pranks.

Something was wrong.

Paul bolted from his bed and hit redial.

Nothing.

Straight to voice-mail.

He dressed in five minutes and was out the door on his way to Glenn’s house, trying to convince himself that all was okay, but his instincts told him otherwise.

****

7:30am

Doug Lipton’s mornings had slipped into a comfortable routine since starting at the firm. He was up by 5:30, spent thirty minutes on one of his exercise machines, showered and shaved by 6:30. He would wake his wife Sarah and 8 year old daughter Annie moments later and start fixing breakfast for all of them, and then out the door by 8:00 for his drive to work. Sarah was much less of a morning person than he and needed a little caffeine stimulation to get started. She took a seat and nursed her double espresso slowly.

Annie was in the shower as soon as she was up, her shower was always twice as long as Doug's for a body less than half his size. It was a mystery he never could understand.

Omelet? Doug inquired.

Sarah nodded sipping more of her 'energy' drink. He folded the omelet mixture in the pan and flipped them over gently. Moments later he artfully slid the omelet out onto Sarah's plate and she dug into the meal with a little more energy than she had earlier.

So today's the day then? she asked not looking up from her plate.

Doug nodded, Yesterday the jury wanted to look at some final pieces of evidence which don't amount to a whole lot but we are pretty confident that the verdict would be reached early today, not guilty, of course.

She winced. Her mouth opened as if to speak and then shut quickly, the thought she had was on its way out and she stopped it. She set down the espresso and looked at the man she loved with a pained expression. You know he did it, right?

Doug sighed lowering his head, Sarah, . . . I . .I’m not doing this for him, this is my job. I do it because we can’t decide who is going to have a fair trial and who isn’t. If I start making decisions like that, then I can’t do my job.

I know it’s your job, I just . . Doug, the girls were 8 years old. I feel. . . She shook her head and paused, I feel filthy for wanting you to win this case, and I’m sorry.

A big part of Doug wanted to agree with her. Doug had two sides to him, he found it necessary in order to cope with some of the more distasteful aspects of his work. His human side was made up of his compassion, his love and what was right. This was the side of him that wanted to put a gun to the head of people like Jasper Davis and pull the trigger, twice for good measure.

Then there was his attorney side, the side that had to repress all those images of victims, of the families' lives that were torn apart and left with missing pieces. This was the side that got the bills paid, got them a new pool and provided a comfortable life. This was his soul-less side as he fought sometimes on the side of evil. The side he had to shed as he walked through his front door at the end of the day. He had to, just to preserve his sanity and at times, he thought, his humanity.

Doug reached out and grasped her hand, Sarah, I don't get the choice to defend only innocent people. I take what is given me and I do the best I can for each of my clients, even the guilty ones. Silence came as his soul-less side fought against the human side. This was a conversation they had had before and more likely than not, would have again.

Remember when you started at the firm, you wanted to be a Perry Mason, defending the falsely accused, finding that missing evidence that freed the innocent client. I know you don’t have the choice as to who to defend, but this one is different, you know it is. You’re going to win because a cop did the right thing morally, even if not legally. I can’t help you celebrate that, I won’t and again . . . her voice dropped to a whisper, I’m sorry. The tears were forming in her eyes as she turned back to her espresso.

As the anger welled to the surface, Doug felt his human side give way as he released her hand quickly. He pounded the kitchen table with his fists. She looked up at him with more sadness than surprise and that served only to fuel his soul-less anger.

Look around you. What I do, what I have to do, is what has gotten us the house we wanted, with the life we wanted. I don't like everything I have to do, but you are my wife and you are supposed to support me. If I'm going to make an impression on the partners of the firm, to become a partner at the firm, so that one day I can choose which cases to take, it's going to be through cases like this one. I can't start interjecting feelings into this, I can't start doubting what I do, because if I do, it's over. No house, no car, no pool, nothing! It's my job, Sarah! If you had a job, you would understand. . .

He stared into her usually sparkling green eyes,  now dulled with tears now wide open and hurt. They pierced through his anger, stripping away all the arguments he had built up around the reason for defending people like Jasper Davis. He turned away, he had to, otherwise he would melt and his human side would take over.

She was right. He knew it, but he couldn't, no, he wouldn't acknowledge it. She just didn't understand, he had to keep his feelings, and for all intents and purposes, his conscience dulled to do his job effectively.

Trembling, she turned from him and returned to eating as Annie bounded into the kitchen ready for her routine breakfast. She grinned widely and greeted her mother warmly with a hug from which she made a beeline grab for her fathers’ knees, Doug stumbled and patted her head, Whoa, Punky. Here’s your usual. He said, piling a mound of scrambled eggs on the plate and setting it on the table. Annie saw the half-hearted smile and the reddened eyes on her mother’s face and her smile faded.

Daddy, I can’t eat these, I need the volcano. Doug grimaced and pulled out the ketchup bottle and inserting the tip into the heart of the top of the mound filled up the ‘volcano’ to overflowing. Yay! Annie screamed and began digging into her food. I still think that’s gross, Annie. He said. She replied in typical 8 year old girl fashion by opening her full mouth and moving the odd food mixture around.

Annie! Sarah scolded, Don’t gross your father out. Doug shook his head, removed his apron and put his tie on. Sarah stood and stared at him, he wouldn’t look at her, not right now and he knew that she knew that. She cleared her throat and started, Are you going to be late tonight or will there be a. . . party? He paused in the middle of readjusting his tie, his back to his wife. The internal war between the desire to yell at her again and the desire to apologize and hold her closely ended in a draw as he found himself incapable of either.

No, I'm getting too old for that kind of thing. I'll be home around 6:00. He turned to head to the door and as he did so, caught her expression. Now it was shame that caused him to turn away,  not anger. He turned to his daughter, hardly able to look her in the eye either.

You! he said pointing to Annie, you be good today and learn something in school! Annie smiled and waved good-bye, opening her full mouth again for effect. Doug walked out the front door with the stinging remorse of allowing his lawyer side into the home to hurt his wife. As he punched the unlock key to enter his car, he paused wanting to return to her.

No, this was something he needed to wait on, this day was going to be hard enough, she just didn’t understand the daily self-doubt he struggled with, he made a promise to himself to make it up to her for his acting like an ass. He climbed into his car and with the jazz CD firmly in place, started the vehicle and backed out of his long driveway.

****

ii

Paul sped the short distance to Glenn’s house, in the back of his mind he had already decided that the call was an accidental one and that everything was ok. He and Glenn had spent four years together at the Orlando police department. They had become close friends regularly getting together during off-hours to watch Glenn’s Notre Dame football and Bostin Celtics basketball teams. This last year had been tough on Glenn.

They were together when they got the call about Jasper Davis being spotted near the scene of the little girl’s kidnapping. LeAnn Baker was the second child abducted that month and had been missing for a matter of a few hours. The first was Brae Bowden, she was found two days after her abduction raped and strangled to death. Brae had been killed within hours of being raped, there was still a chance that LeAnn was still alive, slim though it was.

An anonymous tip led to Jasper Davis as a chief suspect. He was seen in LeAnn’s neighborhood just before she vanished. With even the slightest chance that she was still alive, Glenn knocked on Davis’ door forcefully and announced their presence.

Whether the muffled sound of a child Glenn heard came from upstairs or from another apartment, Paul did not know, but he watched his partner reel back and kick the door in. Davis was inside filling a duffle bag. Evidence would later show that LeAnn’s blood was on that bag. The one seized before the warrant was issued. Apparently, a veteran cop’s gut instinct was not enough for probable cause.

Glenn blamed himself for Davis’ success in getting a second trial. In some ways, it seemed that he even blamed