Afterburn: A Kenzie Gilmore Thriller

by BIBA PEARCE

  “She was in one piece,” Reid said, returning. He’d changed and was now wearing jeans and a black button-down shirt. It looked good on him. “Doc didn’t think she’d been in long.”

  “Was she reported missing?” Kenzie asked.

  “Don’t know. I’m sure the task force will look into it. Too early to say at this stage. The doc thinks it happened last night.”

  Kenzie shuddered. She’d been in the same vicinity last night. Drinking, dancing, all while the serial killer had been stalking this girl, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

  “I was there,” she whispered.

  “Where?” he raised an eyebrow. “South Beach?”

  “Yeah. I went to speak to Snake. I wanted to ask him about Natalia’s investments and why he hadn’t been helping her.”

  Reid frowned. “What did he say?”

  “Well, she had a trust fund that gave her a monthly allowance. Her father monitored that. But she also had an inheritance from her mother that had gone directly to her. Snake didn’t interfere. He said she wanted to prove she could look after herself.”

  Reid shook his head.

  “I know. Anyway, I hung out with him and his crew for a while. Got home late.”

  He studied her, his gaze lingering on the shadows beneath her eyes. “Be careful, Kenzie,” he said. “There’s a killer out there.”

  “That’s what I was just thinking. While I was out having fun, he was targeting his next victim.” She glanced down at the phone. “Her.”

  There was a pause.

  “Do you have a name yet?” Kenzie asked.

  “No.”

  “Will you let me know when you do?”

  “I’ll try.” He wasn’t very convincing.

  “Please, Reid. I need this story. It’ll be out soon. You can’t keep something like this under wraps. May as well be me who breaks it.”

  He sighed and repocketed his phone. “Okay, fine. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  Kenzie grinned. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t smile back. There was a melancholy around him. It clung to him like the muddy smell of the swamp. “Was it bad?” she asked quietly. “Seeing another one.”

  “Yeah. She’d been strangled like the others. Thin ligature marks, not finger indents like Natalia.”

  “Another reason to think this is the Strangler’s work,” she surmised.

  He gave a terse nod.

  “Was she raped?”

  Reid hesitated, as if unsure of what to say.

  “She was, wasn’t she?” Kenzie felt the color drain from her face.

  “You can’t print that,” Reid barked. “It’s something only the killer would know. We have to hold that from the public.”

  She bit her lip. “It would really help if I could link this murder to the others by saying all the girls were sexually assaulted, except Natalia. That would be an edge the others don’t have.”

  “Not yet,” he warned her. “It will jeopardize the investigation.”

  “Okay, but you’ll tell me when?”

  “Yes, and you don’t have to flash your dimples at me. As soon as we can make that information public, I’ll let you know.”

  Kenzie gave up and chuckled. “All right, then. I won’t mention the sexual assault. I’ll give a rough description and outline how she was found. Do you want me to appeal for witnesses?”

  Reid thought for a moment. “Yeah, might as well. Jonny and the task force need all the help they can get.”

  “I don’t suppose I can use that picture?” She nodded to the phone in his pocket.

  “No way. The Chief would know it was me giving information to the press. Other than the swamper who found her body, nobody else saw her like that.”

  “The Chief might think it was him,” Kenzie argued. “Even if he denied it, no one could prove otherwise.”

  But Reid wasn’t budging. “Sorry Kenzie. No can do.”

  She sighed. “Okay, then I’ll have to go out there and get a photograph of where they found her. I need something to print.”

  “It’s a forty-minute drive into the swamp,” he told her. “I don’t want you going out there alone.”

  “Then let me use the picture,” she reasoned. “And I won’t have to.”

  “Can’t do that either.”

  She huffed in frustration. “Right, then you leave me no choice. I’ll hunt down the guy who found her,” she said. “He may have taken a photograph, something to show his swamping buddies.”

  “How will you find him?” Reid asked, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “I haven’t told you who he is.”

  “I have ways and means,” she said. At his look, she sighed. “If he’s been back on the water, it’ll be all over the swamp by now. Besides, I have another source, don’t forget.”

  “Ah yes, the officer who always gets it wrong.” His forehead creased into a frown. “Unless he’s on the task force, he’s not going to know shit.”

  Kenzie didn’t reply. She got to her feet and made her way to the door. Keith would insist on a photograph of the crime scene, at the very least. She was heading out to the swamp, whether Reid liked it or not.

  “Kenzie, stay out of the Glades,” he warned. “It’s not safe.”

  “For a woman, you mean?”

  His mouth hardened.

  “Thanks for the info.” She opened the door. “If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know. I’m not stingy with my intel.”

  All she got was a grunt in reply.

  19

  Damn, Kenzie.

  He knew she would head out to the crime scene, despite what he’d said. Part of him wanted to go with her, but he couldn’t. He was due at the office. He’d already texted Pérez and told him he was coming in.

  She was on her own this time.

  His desk would be waiting. It was time to face the music.

  Reid parked in the police department parking lot, in the same spot he used to park when he’d worked here. Old habits.

  He scanned his ID at the reception desk, then made his way up to the homicide department on the fourth floor. The lift stopped with a jerk. He took a deep breath and stepped out.

  The office was buzzing with activity. He spotted Ortega’s team on the left-hand side, their desks arranged to face each other. Officers darted about, on the phone, collecting printouts, talking in hushed voices. They were planning something big, a crackdown. Reid could tell. He knew the signs.

  Ortega glanced up, his brow raised in surprise. Then he glanced away again, as a team member said something. It must be important if it was enough to distract him from Reid’s entrance.

  “Hey, Reid. Good to see you,” called an ex-colleague, as he walked to the Lieutenant's office.

  “Garrett,” said another, raising his head in greeting.

  Pérez saw him coming through the office’s wide windows and opened the door. “Garrett, good to see you. Come with me, I’ll show you to your desk. You’re all set up and ready to go.”

  Thankfully, he was positioned on the right, across the walkway from Ortega’s team. The corner desk, they used to call it. The one nobody wanted because it was out of the way. Now it was perfect for his solitary mission.

  He got a coffee from the kitchen and screwed up his face. It was as bad as he remembered. Back at his desk, he logged on to the computer and pulled up the security footage he’d requested of the night of Natalia’s disappearance.

  The Sand Club had reluctantly handed it over when issued with a warrant. He stared at the parking lot. Valet. Guests only.

  There was Bella’s date’s car, a silver Nissan Altima. They’d arrived just after eight, Bella in a striking rose-patterned gown and her partner in a suit. The event hadn’t stretched to rate a tux, but it was glamorous.

  Reid fast-forwarded to when Bella was led out, stumbling and flushed. Her date said very little as they waited for the valet to bring the car around. He opened the door for her, and they got in and drove off.

&nb
sp; Before switching to the CCTV footage of the street outside the club, Reid trawled the footage for Gabriella’s vehicle. He knew she'd slunk away via the beach path, so he wasn’t surprised to find she hadn’t parked on the property.

  He scanned the street for Gabriella’s vehicle. After an hour of searching, he found it parked on Fifteenth. Had she always intended on leaving early, or did she just not want the hassle of waiting on a valet?

  He scanned the footage for either vehicle returning before two a.m.

  Nothing.

  He didn’t see Bella’s or Gabriella’s car come back. It wasn’t an exact science. There were side streets he couldn’t access and garages further down the beach, but on the surface, it looked like they’d both been telling the truth.

  There was an adrenaline-fueled moment when Ortega’s team left on a raid. Mid-morning. Strange time, but perhaps they had to wait until a bar opened or the major players were in situ. He watched them depart, sensing their excitement, remembering what it felt like to be on a bust.

  “I damn well hope they get them,” growled Pérez, coming over. “We need to get the situation under control.”

  Reid didn’t ask who Ortega’s team was after, not that Pérez would tell him anyway. Not his case.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Been going through the security footage at the club. So far nothing.”

  “That's dog work,” Pérez muttered. “Shout if you need any help. Detective Ryan can give you a hand.”

  “Happy to be of assistance, sir,” she replied from across the office.

  He turned around. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  The next task he wanted to do himself.

  Reid loaded the footage from the street camera opposite the building occupied by AF Investments. It was aimed at the Metrorail station but caught the front of the building in its line of sight. He increased the speed, letting it run until midnight. Nothing out of the ordinary. He suspected Fernández would wait until things quieted down before he moved in.

  He was right.

  At ten past one in the morning, a large moving van pulled up outside the street entrance. The usually bustling downtown street was deserted. Green-tinged street lamps cast an eerie glow, like a scene from an alien movie, or maybe that was just the camera. He watched as the back of the van opened and six men jumped out, all wearing balaclavas and gloves. Slick bastards.

  They hurried inside, a fast walk, not a run. Reid played the recording in double time until they came back out carrying an assortment of office furniture and equipment. The big items came out first: desks, tables, chairs. Next, printers, computers, and boxes of files.

  He checked the timestamp. They’d emptied the office in under 20 minutes.

  The men jumped back into the van and drove off. The driver hadn’t left the vehicle, and the engine had been running the whole time. A perfect getaway.

  He never saw Antonio Fernández.

  Reid sighed and kicked back his chair. He should have listened to Kenzie. He’d underestimated the scam artist. They should have gone in armed with the warrant and left him no wriggle room. Still, there was one other thing left to check.

  He pulled up the CCTV for the parking lot next to the building. This was a warrant he’d snuck in under the pretense of looking for Antonio Fernández’s vehicle. The Ferrari wasn’t hard to find. Fernández parked on the same level every day. Reid made a note of the license plate. He’d get Ryan to run it through the DVLA database.

  Now for the real reason he wanted the parking garage footage.

  Torres.

  It had been late afternoon when he and Kenzie visited AF Investments. He was guessing four-thirty. Torres had been leaving as they arrived.

  Reid studied the video recordings of the elevator entrance to every floor of the parking garage from four o’clock to five o’clock on that afternoon until he found it.

  Torres emerged from the elevator and strode across the lot to an Audi TT convertible. Sweet ride. Clearly, he wasn’t trying to remain incognito. Perhaps they figured with the current chaos between the street gangs, the pressure was off.

  Except, Reid never forgot.

  Reid watched as Torres put the top down and reversed out of the parking bay. Even through the grainy camera lens, he looked suave and handsome, his shoulders relaxed, his chin tilted back, cheekbones cutting shadows into his face. The arrogance of the man. Going about his daily business with blood on his hands. So much blood.

  Reid shut his eyes. He could see the carnage in the bar with crystal clarity. The shouting as they barged their way in, the shots fired, hitting the deck. Arresting the gangsters who were still there. The feeling of dread as he proceeded through the bar shouting Bianca's name.

  The silence that greeted him.

  The knowing.

  Then the proof. Her body lying in the back office. A bullet through her head.

  The medical examiner had said she’d died instantly. Massive cerebral trauma. The bullet had literally blown her brains out.

  Then the pain. The gut-wrenching realization that she was dead. That he’d never see her again. Never laugh with her or kiss her against the wall behind the precinct.

  He exhaled.

  “You ok?” asked Ryan, coming over. “You sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  He glanced up, mentally dragging himself back to the present. “Actually, yeah. You can run these plates for me.”

  He scribbled Torres and Fernández’s plates on a Post-it Note from a pad he’d stolen from Ortega’s desk and handed it to her.

  “Sure.”

  He liked she didn’t ask questions. Just headed back to her desk to do what he’d asked.

  Reid turned his gaze back to the video and pressed play. He watched the convertible ease out of the parking lot and into the Miami traffic.

  I’m going to get you, you bastard, he promised. No matter what it takes.

  20

  “The moving van belongs to a company called New Horizons,” Ryan told Reid a short while later. “They hire out vehicles for business and industrial shipping, moving, that sort of thing.”

  Reid wrote the name down on his pad.

  “Do we know who hired it?”

  “Yeah,” she grinned. “The van was rented to a guy called Phoenix Bender. He works as a security guard at a building downtown.”

  “Downtown? Which street?”

  “Southwest 1st Avenue.”

  Reid drew in his breath. “That’s where AF Investments is located.”

  “So he’s part of it?” she asked. He’d briefed her about the failed raid.

  “I’m not sure. Do you have an address for him?

  She handed him back the Post-it he’d given her. She’d written his home address and phone number on it.

  “Thanks. Any luck on those other two plates?”

  “Yeah, the Ferrari, is registered to AF Investments at the address you raided.”

  He grimaced.

  “The Audi convertible is also registered to a company, Regal Holdings, and the address looks to be a warehouse at the port.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Thanks, that’s great.”

  Regal Holdings. The cartel always had illusions of grandeur.

  “Want me to dig deeper? I’ve got the time.”

  “Aren’t you working on the task force?” Reid inquired.

  “No, not unless they need reports or filing.” She rolled her eyes. “Jonny’s waiting for the lab results on the fourth victim, Mimi Silverton.”

  “Is he at the morgue?”

  “Yeah, and Jared and Chris are talking to her family and friends, trying to trace her last known whereabouts.”

  They were following standard operating procedures in a homicide.

  “You could do some digging into Mimi’s background,” he suggested. “Unless you’ve already done that.”

  “No, I haven’t.” She hesitated. “Use my initiative, you mean?”

  “Yes, you’re obviously a competent off
icer. Instead of sitting around waiting, you could put together a profile on the victim, where she went to school, where she went to college, who her friends were, her social media profiles. Flag anything suspicious. Look for links with the other victims.”

  She broke into a wide grin. “You know what? I will. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction, Detective Garrett.”

  “Please, call me Reid.”

  “Okay, Reid.” She flushed and went back to her desk.

  Her potential was wasted writing up reports and filing them. He’d have to have a word with Jonny. As short staffed as they were, they could use her on the task force.

  Without telling anyone where he was going, Reid packed up and left the office. He drove out to Biscayne and investigated the industrial area where the container operators were located, searching for the address of the warehouse Ryan had given him.

  Eventually, he found it hidden behind a huge container yard. It was wide, half a football field, with corrugated iron roller doors and tiny smudged windows. There didn’t appear to be anyone around.

  Reid parked a few streets away and approached the building on foot. He looked for signs of activity, of loading or unloading, of workers going in and out, but there was nothing.

  The place was deserted.

  A security camera was mounted to the front of the building above the main entrance. He circled the property but didn’t spot any more. Was the warehouse alarmed? He assumed so. He pasted his face against a smudged side window but couldn’t see anything. Inside was dark.

  No, wait a minute. There was a flicker of light coming from a doorway toward the back. An office, perhaps?

  He went around the back, but all the windows on this side were boarded up or too filthy to see through. Then a door opened and he heard voices.

  He froze, hunkering down at the back of the building, praying whoever it was wouldn’t come his way. He was in luck, the voices faded. He snuck around the side in pursuit. Two men, casually dressed, definitely packing judging by the bulges at the back of their shirts. Security guards doing a checkup.