Dangerous Stakes

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Dangerous Stakes Page 7

by G. K. Parks


  He continued jogging along the sidewalk, running in place while he looked both ways before crossing. He circled around, so the van wouldn’t see him turn down the same side street. It was probably unnecessary to take such precautions, but he wanted to be careful.

  Since the police came knocking at Spark’s door, they obviously didn’t heed his first warning, but he’d make them listen this time. He gave her the chance to back off, but she didn’t comply. She left him no choice. He slowed several feet from her car, putting his hands on top of his head as if trying to catch his breath. Then he knelt down, pretending to tie his shoe as he examined the undercarriage and removed the device from his pocket. It would all be over soon.

  * * *

  Captain Grayson left a message, warning me to stay out of sight. So I didn’t go to the precinct. Instead, I swung by the hospital to check on Becca before heading to the hotel. Her condition remained unchanged, but CSU found skin beneath her fingernails. They were testing it to see if it was a match to anyone in the system, but DNA took time. Typically 24-72 hours. We had at least another day to go before we’d get the results.

  When I called Brad, his phone went straight to voicemail. That wasn’t a good sign. Hopefully, he was asleep. Maybe his battery was dead. I checked the time. If I didn’t hear from him in the next four hours, I’d go to his apartment. In the meantime, I had plenty to keep me busy.

  “It looks like you’re having fun,” Laura Mackenzie said, entering the hotel room. “How did you convince the department to swing for a room? And can we get spa treatments and room service while we’re here?”

  “I wish.” I rubbed the kink in my neck.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, opening her computer bag and taking out her laptop and peripherals. “Where’s Fennel? Shouldn’t he be assisting you?”

  “He’s not my assistant. He’s my partner.”

  “Is there a difference?” She cracked a wicked smile and went to work. Mac was the resident computer expert at the precinct, at least as far as I was concerned. She was young with no formal education. At the age of sixteen, she was arrested for hacking the Pentagon. She finished high school while in federal custody and worked for the Feds in exchange for not being sentenced to hard time. After serving her time with them, the police department hired her on the commissioner’s insistence, but most of the guys were intimidated by the spunky hacker turned hero and steered clear, which worked great for me.

  “Not really, but don’t tell Fennel.” I winked, sliding her a disk. “See if there’s anything worthwhile here. And if there’s time, do you think you might be able to get an ID on the driver? Or the tow truck’s VIN? Cyber division said it wasn’t possible, but I thought you might have a few tricks up your sleeve.”

  She cracked her knuckles. “No problem.” While Mac ran the hotel guests through facial recognition and enhanced the images of the tow truck driver in question, I told her about the investigation.

  “I think there’s a tattoo under the guy’s sleeve, but I can’t make it out. Do you think you can work some magic?” I asked.

  “Magic’s my middle name, but this might take a while,” she warned. “Maybe an hour or two.”

  “I’ve got time, if you’re game. The room’s ours for as long as we need it.”

  “Why, Detective DeMarco, I didn’t realize you had other plans in mind,” Mac teased, “but I’m game. Go find us a couple of studs. I’ll crack open the mini-bar, order some pay-per-view, and get ready to party.”

  I rolled my eyes in order to hide my smile. “I need to check the men’s room.”

  “I guess that’s one way to see what they’re packing without having to wait ‘til the end of the night.”

  Ignoring her, I left the room and returned to the lobby. A patrol unit remained near the front entrance. Another one was positioned in the parking garage. Crime scene tape roped off the section where the murder occurred, but aside from that, it was just business as usual inside the hotel. Life went on, just not for Juan Rodriguez.

  The men’s room was right off the lobby, and I knocked politely on the door. “Housekeeping,” I called, pushing it open a crack. “Anyone in here?”

  “Just a sec,” a guy replied. I waited in the doorway for him to leave. “All yours.”

  “Did you wash your hands?”

  He squinted, taking too long to think about something that should have been a simple yes. From his furrowed brow, one would think he was working out a geometry proof. “Uh…”

  “No, you didn’t.” I pushed the door open. “Last chance.”

  He returned to the bathroom and stood in front of the automatic sink. I handed him a paper towel, eyeing the three stalls. He dried his hands and handed me five bucks.

  “Have a nice day,” he said.

  Well, if the cop thing didn’t work out, I could probably make a living as a bathroom attendant. I waited for the door to swing closed before flipping the lock. The three stalls were empty, and I gave the four urinals against the wall a cursory look. Fennel was right; there was nothing here.

  But I was stubborn, so I examined the fixtures, finding nothing above or below any of the sinks or urinals. I opened the soap dispensers and paper towel dispensers, but nothing was hiding inside. Next, I stepped into the first stall, checked inside the toilet paper dispenser, behind the door, and in the toilet tank.

  “What the hell are you doing, Liv?” I asked myself. Fennel would have done this. I stepped out of the stall. Without any windows or other exits, it was unlikely Kincaid could have used this as a dead drop. The only other possibility was he met someone inside.

  Mac was already working that angle, so there wasn’t much left for me to do. My outing to the hotel was quickly turning into a bust. On a whim, I checked for disturbed or cracked tiles, but I didn’t find any hidey-holes.

  While I was washing my hands, the light above the third stall flickered. I watched it in the mirror. The wiring hung down from the end of the light, and I turned to examine one of the other fluorescents. The wiring on the others was taut, disappearing into a small hole drilled in the ceiling tile.

  I entered the third stall and looked up. Ceiling tiles made great places to stash contraband, so carefully, I hoisted myself onto the toilet seat, balancing on the edges. I pushed the ceiling tile up, ducking my face away as dust rained down on me. After moving the tile out of the way, I flicked on my flashlight and peered inside.

  “You’re never going to hear the end of this, Fennel.” Triumphant, I slipped on a pair of gloves and retrieved the zippered baggie from its hiding spot. Inside was a hotel keycard and a stack of cash. I leafed through the money. Five grand.

  I tucked the money back into the bag and removed the keycard. It was black, just like the card stolen from Juan Rodriguez. But Kincaid was in the bathroom before Rodriguez was killed and before his keycard was stolen. So how did this card get here? And who did it belong to?

  After calling it in, I had one of the patrolmen sit with the evidence. I tapped my nails impatiently against my thigh. I wanted to ask the hotel manager about the keycard. Maybe it belonged to a guest. Maybe a second one had gone missing. Either way, I wanted to know where it came from and what it unlocked, but we needed to dust it for prints first. Contaminating newly discovered evidence would not be helpful.

  Thirty minutes later, the van pulled up. Techs came inside. They dusted the card, finding it wiped clean. As soon as they were done with it, I took it to the front desk while they examined the ceiling inside the restroom, the baggie, and the cash.

  The hotel manager said the keycard belonged to one of the maids, and it had been reported missing two days ago. That was the same day Rodriguez was killed and the cars were stolen. I let out an annoyed huff. The hotel manager should have mentioned this sooner, when the crime occurred. The keycard allowed access to all the guestrooms.

  Maybe Kincaid asked someone to swipe the card. When he was finished, he left it in the ceiling tile, along with payment. I frowned, uncertain of my
theory. Something was going on inside this hotel. I just didn’t know what.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked, returning to the restroom.

  “Traces of cocaine.” The tech held up the swab, the bright purple tip confirming his statement.

  “What about prints?” I asked.

  “We found several partials, but the scanner is having trouble spitting out an ID. We’ll need to run them through the computer at the lab.”

  “Okay. Get on that, and let me know what you find.” I looked at the patrolman. “Until further notice, we need the bathroom roped off. No one in or out, especially hotel staff.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” On my way back to the room, I tried Brad again. This time it didn’t go straight to voicemail, so at least he turned his phone back on. However, he still didn’t answer. “Dammit.” I sent a text with instructions to meet at the hotel and checked the time. Two hours. If I didn’t hear from him in two hours, I’d send a search party. Or I could probably get Mac to ping his phone.

  “Hey, I have another assignment for you,” I said, stepping inside. “Possibly two.”

  While Mac worked on the computer, I made a few calls to the insurance companies to find out if they had any insight to offer regarding the stolen vehicles or their owners. They didn’t, and after checking the crime databases for anything related to Towers Wrecker Service and examining the business profile, I was still no closer to figuring out who purchased the tow truck. According to DMV records, the truck wasn’t registered to anyone. It, along with the rest of the wrecking service assets, had been sent to a scrapyard. I wrote down the address, figuring it was another long shot. After all, the company went out of business five years ago.

  Why target these specific individuals? The hotel garage had been filled with exotic cars during the event, so why would the thieves steal three less valuable vehicles later that same night? If they wanted a bigger score, they shouldn’t have killed Juan. They should have driven off with the two sports cars and came back and grabbed two more. I thought back to my original theory. We weren’t dealing with the same crew. Kincaid might be the hottest game in town with his penchant for exotic racing cars, even if we couldn’t prove it, but someone else performed the other jobs. Axel wouldn’t waste his time on two sedans and an SUV, unless they were tricked out in gold.

  I closed my eyes. Becca said it was about what was inside the cars. Which cars did she mean? At the time, I thought she meant the two exotic rides, but maybe she meant the other three thefts. I didn’t know about those when I confronted her, but she might have known they were going to get stolen. Or there had been others. Or I was losing my mind.

  What if our assumptions were wrong? Maybe we were looking at two separate cases. We needed to separate the facts, starting with our newest evidence.

  I dialed the officer in charge of Becca’s case, and he passed me off to Wes Harding, a vice detective. I swallowed. Since Becca was a pro, it made sense for vice to be involved, but I knew the only reason Detective Harding caught her case was because my dad made a call.

  “Any leads?” I asked.

  Harding cleared his throat. “We believe we found where she was attacked. We found blood inside an abandoned warehouse near Becca’s normal stomping grounds.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “Maybe. A few of the other girls who work that territory might have seen something, but if it was their pimp, they’ll be too afraid to talk.”

  I thought for a second, but I didn’t have any other contacts in the area besides Becca. Becca was the common denominator. She could give us answers.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Harding said, “we found the murder weapon. A crowbar. We didn’t find any prints, so we have no way of tracing it back to the killer. I put feelers out. We’re checking nearby security cameras, but it doesn’t look promising.”

  My insides clenched. “Rebecca’s dead?”

  “She succumbed to her injuries two hours ago.”

  Twelve

  “You all right?” Fennel asked. “If you need to cry or something, I’ll get you a tissue.”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Brad looked away. “Busy, but I brought you coffee. Figured you could use it after last night. Hell, we could both use it.” Fennel handed me one of the two cups in his hand, which I put down. When he put his beside mine, I picked up his cup and took a sip. At least he wasn’t drinking on the job. Based on the amount of aftershave he slathered on, I knew where he’d been when I called.

  “Where’s mine?” Mac asked.

  “Sorry. Liv didn’t tell me it was a party.”

  “Yeah, I’m still waiting on the studs to arrive.” She shot a look at Fennel. “Unless we’re supposed to share.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “So what did you find in the bathroom that was so important it couldn’t wait?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you.” I led him out of the hotel room and pushed him into an alcove next to the ice machine. “Are you still drunk?”

  “No, just hungover.”

  “What happened to being around if I needed you? Didn’t you say you were going to stop by my apartment? Because Kincaid sure did.”

  “Shit.” Fennel slammed the side of his fist into the ice machine, causing several cubes to drop. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, the headache obvious. “He’s taunting us. He’s playing with us. That sicko is enjoying it. What did he want?”

  “I don’t know. He wants me to go somewhere with him tomorrow night, and he wants me to stay away from Spark until then.” I sighed. “Becca’s dead.”

  “I know.” He stared right at me but saw something from a long time ago. “We said no more bodies. That we wouldn’t let anyone else get killed.”

  “Brad?”

  He shook away the thought and blinked. “What did you find in the bathroom?”

  “A bag with money and a hotel keycard hidden in the ceiling. They found traces of cocaine, but I don’t know if it’s related.”

  “Typical dead drop. Someone leaves the cash, and someone else picks it up and delivers the drugs. Or vice versa. Given the keycard, I’d say maybe something was getting delivered to the room.”

  “More drugs?”

  Brad shrugged. “Perhaps, or something too large or too heavy to stash in the ceiling.”

  I thought for a moment. “There’s something going on inside this hotel, and since two staff keycards have gone missing, someone who works here could be involved.”

  “I’ll take another look at Juan Rodriguez. He looked clean, but appearances can be deceiving.” Brad stepped away from the ice machine and glanced down the hallway. “The hotel manager’s been cooperating, so see if he’ll give us access to their footage for the last couple of weeks. If not, call your boyfriend and see if he can get us a warrant. Based on what you found in the ceiling, it shouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

  “Winters is not my boyfriend,” I hissed.

  Brad smirked, the first reassuring sign that he hadn’t fallen too deeply down the rabbit hole. “And yet, you knew exactly who I was talking about. Care to explain that one, DeMarco?”

  “Screw you.”

  “Did you make Winters the same offer because that would explain why he’s so smitten?”

  I slapped his arm, a smile tugging at my lips. We had to be more than the job. Or it would eat us alive.

  “All right.” Fennel scrubbed his hands down his face. “You stay here, and see what you can dig up. Try to stay out of sight. Kincaid’s under surveillance, but we don’t want any of his buddies to spot you either. For all we know, someone in the hotel could be working with him.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “He wouldn’t have needed to hide the keycard in the ceiling tile.” A terrible thought went through my mind. What if the items in the ceiling have nothing to do with Kincaid? “I think we’re looking at two crews. The thr
ee vehicles and the tow truck driver don’t fit the bill for the three-man team who performed the heist here and killed Rodriguez.”

  “Yeah, but you saw Fox’s text. Five cars.”

  “Maybe that was something else.”

  “Maybe we need to stop speculating and figure this thing out.” He gave me an odd look. “What possessed you to look in the ceiling?”

  “I saw it in a movie.”

  Fennel snorted. “Wow.”

  “Plus, I couldn’t let you be right.”

  “That’s more like it.” He started to leave, but I stopped him.

  “Check Rodriguez’s car. Becca told me it wasn’t about the rides but what’s inside them. And stay away from the bottle.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Fennel saluted with two fingers and disappeared down the corridor.

  I returned to the lobby and spoke to the hotel manager again. Hotel security escorted me to their office, where I clicked through the footage and asked them to save the requested files onto a separate drive. With the USB in hand, I returned to our suite. Poor Mac, she had her hands full.

  “Here,” I said, offering her my untouched coffee. It was the least I could do.

  “Thanks.”

  With Becca’s death hanging over my head, I was on a mission. Whoever did this would pay. The bastard was a coward. He wanted to get to me, but he did it by going after her. Clearly, he didn’t have the balls to go toe-to-toe with the police department, but I wasn’t going to give him a choice.

  Mac printed a photo enhancement from the hotel security feed. “Him,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s the same guy.” She pulled up the image of the tow truck driver. We didn’t get a clear look at his face in either photo, but the small portion of his tattoo visible beneath his shirt sleeve was identical. The tow truck driver who stole the SUV later that night had been inside the hotel an hour before Kincaid entered the bathroom.

 

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