Borderline

Borderline

by Joseph Badal
Borderline

Borderline

by Joseph Badal

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Overview

"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"

In "Borderline," Joseph Badal delivers his first mystery novel with the same punch and non-stop action found in his acclaimed eight previous thrillers, including the Danforth Saga.

Barbara Lassiter and Susan Martinez, two New Mexico homicide detectives, are assigned to investigate the murder of a wealthy Albuquerque socialite. They soon discover that the victim, a narcissistic borderline personality, played a lifetime game of destroying people's lives. As a result, the list of suspects in her murder is extensive.

The detectives find themselves enmeshed in a helix of possible perpetrators with opportunity, means, and motive-and soon question giving their best efforts to solve the case the more they learn about the victim's hideous past.

Their job gets tougher when the victim's psychiatrist is murdered and DVDs turn up that show the doctor had serial sexual relationships with a large number of his female patients, including the murder victim.

"Borderline" presents a fascinating cast of characters, including two heroic female detective-protagonists and a diabolical villain; a rollercoaster ride of suspense; and an ending that will surprise and shock the reader.

"'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"

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780692463390
Publisher: Suspense Publishing
Publication date: 06/06/2015
Series: Lassiter/Martinez Case Files , #1
Pages: 306
Sales rank: 610,785
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.64(d)

About the Author

Prior to a long finance career, including a 16-year stint as a senior executive and board member of a NYSE-listed company, Joseph Badal served for six years as a commissioned officer in the U.S. Army in critical, highly classified positions in the U.S. and overseas, including tours of duty in Greece and Vietnam, and earned numerous military decorations. He holds undergraduate and graduate degrees in business and graduated from the Defense Language Institute, West Coast and from Stanford University Law School's Director College. Joe now serves on the boards of several companies. He is the author of eight published suspense novels, including "The Lone Wolf Agenda," released in 2013 and named the top Mystery/Thriller novel in the 2013 New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards competition, and "Ultimate Betrayal," released in 2014 and named the Tony Hillerman Award Winner for Fiction in the 2014 New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards competition. "Borderline" is his first mystery. He also writes a monthly blog titled Everyday Heroes, and has written short stories published in the "Uncommon Assassins," "Someone Wicked," and "Insidious Assassins" anthologies. Joe's next novel, "Death Ship," the fifth in his Danforth Saga, will be released in October 2015. Joe has written dozens of articles that have been published in various business and trade journals and is a frequent speaker at business, civic, and writers' events.

Read an Excerpt

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-handsome. 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.

Salas favored them with a split-second grimace that served as a smile. He handed Susan a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

"We have a 27-1 out on Rio Grande Boulevard. Be on your best behavior; that's the high rent district."

"Who got killed?" Susan asked.

"It's the Comstock place is all I know," Salas said. "See the deputy on scene. He'll have the ID."

"Maxwell Comstock?" Susan asked.

"Yeah, you know him?" Salas said.

"Sure," Susan answered. "We do cocktails at the country club all the time."

Salas looked up and squinted. "Don't be a smartass, Martinez."

Susan held up her hands in surrender. "I don't know Comstock, but I've heard about him. Guy has more money than God and connections to get him into heaven."

"That's him," Salas said. He pointed at Barbara and then at Susan. "Be careful with this one. Comstock is tight with every politician in town." He looked at Susan and added, "Especially you, Martinez. No smartass stuff."

Susan raised her eyebrows, pointed a finger at her chest, and said, "Moi?"

"Get out of here you two," Salas snapped as they turned away from him. "Have fun. Nothing like a bloody corpse on a hot day to make the juices flow."

Barbara shot him a sickly smile and led the way to the exit.

"You know the lieutenant's sweet on you," Susan said on the elevator ride down to the basement.

"You're full of it," Barbara said.

"Can't you tell from the way he smiles at you?"

"First of all, I'm not interested. Second, he never really smiles. When he tries to, he looks like a gargoyle. Third, I'm just not ready for a relationship. Fourth, I can't imagine any man would want to be with this," as she slapped her thigh. She laughed, but there wasn't much humor in it.

Susan frowned as they left the elevator. "You put too much emphasis on looks," she said.

"Easy for you to say, Miss America."

"You've got that blonde-haired, blue-eyed, high cheek-boned thing going on. You just don't know how to use it."

"I use it, but I don't think anyone wants it."

Susan just shook her head, strode out of the elevator, and entered the tunnel to the underground lot where their department-issued unmarked Crown Victorias were parked.

"I'll drive," Barbara said.

"Okay by me," Susan answered.

Barbara thought about what Lieutenant Salas had said about a bloody corpse on a hot day. She'd never been able to view a murder scene in a completely objective, dispassionate fashion, the way Susan could. Eight years in law enforcement and she had yet to reach the point where she considered a dead body just another part of the job.

She drove the sedan west to Rio Grande Boulevard and turned north. The drive was pretty much a straight shot past Old Town. The area consisted of expensive, rambling homes in the midst of two-hundred-year-old adobe structures, a few upscale offices and shops, and small horse farms.

"How'd the counseling session go with Manny last night?" Barbara asked as she tried to take her mind off what might await them at the crime scene. Susan didn't answer right away.

"It was the shits. We rehashed the same old stuff. Manny was steamed when we got home. As if we didn't have enough problems, the airline's about to go through another round of layoffs."

Barbara felt bad for Susan, but didn't know how to respond, so she stared straight ahead and guided the unmarked Ford northward at the 25-mile-per-hour speed limit.

"We got home about 8:30," Susan said. "Manny went right to the fridge, pulled out a six-pack, plopped his ass down in front of the TV, and guzzled Coors. By 9:00 he'd polished off four. I heard him mumbling, so I went into the den and, as calmly as I could, said 'How 'bout we talk about it?' Well, good old Manny pitched a full can of beer at me; just missed my head. Then he came out of his chair, shouted, 'Don't you tell me what to do,' and took a swing at me."

As far as Barbara knew, Manny had never been physically abusive with Susan. "Sonofabitch!" Barbara said. "What happened?"

"I punched him. Busted at least one of his ribs. He packed a bag and left."

"Jeez, I'm really sorry, Susan."

Susan shrugged. "It's okay. I'm almost glad it happened. I'm tired of Manny's crap. It's almost a relief. I'd hoped ... there's the address."

Barbara waved at a deputy who stood at the start of a black-topped driveway. She pulled between two Sheriff's Department patrol cars. White, three-rail wood fences bracketed the driveway and ran between enormous gnarled cottonwood trees. Half-a-dozen horses grazed in a pasture on the right. To the left was a gray barn with a corral in front of it. The corral had red-and-white gates and white wooden jumps set up for hunter-jumper training.

At the end of the long driveway, Barbara stopped the car in a circular drive anchored with a marble fountain. Two Bernalillo County Sheriff cars were parked in front of the entrance to a sand-colored, two-story mansion. Its pitched slate roof, textured stucco exterior, second floor balconies, and tall shuttered windows made it look like something transplanted from Provence. A uniformed deputy stood at the top of four shallow steps, in front of the door to the mansion.

The deputy wore mirrored sunglasses and a tailored uniform that form-fit his huge biceps and sculpted pecs. Barbara nudged Susan. "Try to be nice to Gallagher."

"Hah!" Susan blurted. "Besides, why warn me? You're the one who always gets us in trouble."

"Oh, bull —"

Susan had already moved forward. She climbed the front steps and walked up to Gallagher.

Barbara had worked with the deputy before and had found him humorless, all business. Susan was attractive and sexy, but that wouldn't win her any points with Gallagher.

Susan just stood in front of the guy, found her reflection in his mirrored sunglasses, and primped.

"Shit!" Barbara muttered under her breath. She climbed the steps to the doorway and nudged Susan aside. "Hey, Gallagher," she said. "Que pasa?"

Gallagher's expression didn't change. "OMI's here. The Criminalistics Team hasn't arrived yet."

"You first on the scene?" Barbara asked.

"Nah!" He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the front door. "Saavedra's in the kitchen with the maid. Gal by the name of Isabelle Parra. He got here first."

"Anyone else around?" Barbara asked.

"Nope. I searched the place after I made certain the victim was actually deceased. Even checked the horse barn and the tool shed at the back of the property. There were tools scattered around the barn, so I suspect there were workers here. Probably illegals who dropped whatever they were doing and took off as soon as we arrived."

"How'd it go down?" she said.

"Looks like someone used some sort of spear on the lady of the house. Did one hell —"

"Used a what?" Susan blurted.

"A spear," Gallagher repeated. He lifted his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. "Bad scene. Hacked her up pretty good."

"Anything else?" Barbara asked. She felt queasy.

"The victim is Victoria Comstock. Forty-year-old Anglo female. Lady of the house."

Gallagher stepped aside so Barbara and Susan could walk inside.

The entryway merged into an enormous oval foyer. Two separate hallways radiated off the left side of the foyer. Dead ahead was a third hallway that opened into a forty-foot-deep den, with a dining room on the right, and more rooms beyond that.

(Continues…)


Excerpted from "Borderline"
by .
Copyright © 2015 Joseph Badal.
Excerpted by permission of Suspense Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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