by G. K. Parks
“Track his movements,” I said. “We need to know where he went inside the hotel, who he spoke to, and if he stepped foot inside the lobby bathroom.”
I examined his face. He wore a cap and sunglasses to conceal his features. His shoes looked like run-of-the-mill work boots, and he wore a plain white short-sleeve polo with jeans. Probably ninety percent of the men in the city owned the same outfit, but we might be able to ID him from his ink.
Taking a photo of the image, I texted Detective Harding. Maybe one of Becca’s associates would recognize the tattoo. After he promised to ask around, I put the phone down. What I needed more than anything was for the lab to get back to me on the prints found on the bag and the money.
The tattooed tow truck driver had to link to Kincaid. It was the only reason both men would have been inside the hotel. According to Mac, they both visited the same men’s room, roughly an hour apart. The stolen and seemingly unrelated SUV had to link to the two high-end thefts. It was all connected. I just didn’t know how or why.
“According to the hotel feed, our tattooed suspect hung around inside the bar and made a few calls on his cell phone before ducking into the men’s room.”
“How did he pay for his drinks?” I asked.
“Cash,” she said. “You’re not going to get an ID that way.” She watched the footage again. “He doesn’t have a room key, so I doubt he’s a guest. And he left right after he visited the men’s room. He simply walked away. The exterior cameras lose sight of him pretty quickly.”
“That would have given him plenty of time to change clothes, rendezvous with the SUV, and steal a car and kill a man.” Running through my options, I decided on my next course of action. “The prison database keeps a record of tattoos.”
“So does the military,” Mac said.
“Yeah, well, I’ll start with the prison system and go from there.” With just a partial, it would be difficult to search for a match since I didn’t know what the sweeping dark curves might represent. It could be some sort of tribal pattern, the tail of a dragon, or anything in between. At least we knew the location on his body. Really, how many men could have tattoos on their right bicep?
The number of search results nearly floored me. It’s not a prison tatt, I reminded myself. The artwork was too elaborate for rudimentary tools to have made. I spent hours clicking through the pages while Mac continued working on everything else, but in the end, I didn’t find the driver’s tattoo. We still didn’t have an ID.
“Think, Liv. Think,” I muttered.
Mac snorted. “Does that help?”
“Sometimes.” A pounding headache was forming behind my eyes. On a whim, I tried a reverse image search on the partial. It didn’t come up with an exact match, but it did lead to several websites. Tattoo artists liked to keep portfolios of their work, and a few had similar styles. One of them might have inked the guy. Now I just had to put in the legwork. “I’m going to follow up and see what I can find. Are you good here?”
“Yep, just waiting on the strippers and room service to arrive.” She winked at me. “Good luck, Detective.”
Thirteen
The red dot on the screen turned left. Maybe she missed her turn. He waited, but she didn’t correct or take the next exit. She wasn’t going to the precinct or returning to the apartment. Where was she headed?
An uneasiness filled him. The red dot turned again. He broke out in a cold sweat.
“No. No. No.” He stared in horror. It couldn’t be. How was she tracking him? How did she know about the studio? He was careful. Frantically, he thought about the hotel. No one was left to squeal. Unless…no. It wasn’t possible.
He reached for the remote trigger, the silver of the handgun catching his eye. That had to go. She was on to him, which meant her partner might be too. Or any of those other twats at the police station. Arrogance would be the final nail in his coffin. He had to correct his mistake. He couldn’t let this continue another second. How could he have been so stupid?
He flipped the switch, letting out a breath when the red dot vanished from the screen. Now to cover his tracks.
* * *
Rush hour traffic was a bitch. I turned down another street, glad to be picking up speed. The tattoo parlor was just a few blocks away. I cut into the other lane, and that’s when I heard a metallic pop. My rear tires jumped, and I checked the mirror. What the hell was that? My eyes went to the dashboard. Could it be a flat? None of the lights were on. The car was dead.
Before I could do anything, the subcompact, that had been riding my ass, slammed into my bumper. After that, everything happened in the blink of an eye. I tried to correct, but the steering wheel seized. The driver behind me must have attempted to avoid the collision by pulling to the right, which forced the nose of my car across the double yellow line and into oncoming traffic.
Horns blared, and a pickup clipped my front fender. The force and speed of the hit whipped my car around. More horns. Screeching brakes. I looked to the side just in time to see a city bus t-bone the passenger door. The inside crushed forward. Any second, I’d be crushed too.
The bus driver practically stood on the brakes, doing his best to hold the bus steady as it pushed my car sideways down the median until I crashed into the cement divider. The metal shrieked, crumbling under the pressure. Thankfully, the bus came to a stop, leaving me wedged between it and the cement divider.
I reached for my phone, but it was dead, just like my car. I took a breath, assessing the situation. At least three cars were stopped on both sides of the road. Traffic had slowed to a crawl and continued to move past in the outside lanes. My windows were shattered. But by some miracle, I was mostly unscathed.
“Are you okay?” the bus driver asked. He had gotten out and was standing beside my pinned vehicle. “I called 911. They’re on the way.”
I unhooked my seatbelt and turned to check my door. It wouldn’t budge. The rear door smashed inward, along with most of the frame. A foot closer, and that would have been me. I felt a little woozy, probably from the realization that I’d been extremely lucky rather than from any actual trauma.
“I’m fine.” I shifted in my seat as I collected a few scattered items from the floor.
“Try not to move.” The bus driver turned back to his bus. “Shit.” He looked at the damage and his frightened and annoyed passengers. “I’ll be right back.” He returned to the bus, and I saw him speaking into his radio.
Before he returned to check on me again, the fire department arrived with a few ambulances in tow. I badged them before they could slip the c-collar around my neck and waited for them to pop out my cracked windshield. I let them follow protocol to get me out of the car. Figuring since I already ruined one civil servant’s day, I didn’t need to ruin more.
“What the hell happened?” one of them asked.
“I don’t know. My car just stopped.”
A second truck arrived from the other direction, and they blocked off the affected lanes. I took the collar off my neck and dismissed the paramedics, ushering them away to check on the other drivers and the people on the bus. I looked at the crushed tin can.
“You were lucky,” one of the firefighters said.
A patrol car pulled up, and I gave my statement and submitted to a breathalyzer. Thank heavens Brad didn’t spike his coffee, or I would have had to explain that. I sat in the front seat of the squad car while I watched tow trucks arrive to pick up the subcompact which initially hit me. The pickup never stopped. It fled the scene, so the police issued a BOLO.
“That’s the last time I ever take a car from the motor pool,” I said.
The officer chuckled. “Yeah, well, it’s not like they give us much of a choice.”
After most of the scene had been cleared, firefighters swept glass and debris out of the street and shoveled it into my car. Something metallic caught my eye, and I peered into what was left of the back seat to see what it was. It looked like a piece of the fender, but it had circuits and computer chips atta
ched.
What the hell is that? I reached for my phone again, remembering it was dead. Great. The one time I needed it to work. Before I left the hotel, it was fully charged. Maybe it had been damaged in the crash.
“Can I borrow your radio?” I asked the officer.
A few minutes later, Fennel pulled to a stop behind the patrol car. “Liv,” he ran to me, “are you okay?” He assessed my appearance. “You ought to get checked out.” He ran a flashlight in front of my eyes and poked at a scratch near my eyebrow. “Does your head hurt?”
I slapped the flashlight away. “Not any more than it did before the accident.”
He frowned at my answer. His gaze went to the remnants of the car as it was loaded onto a tow truck. “How the hell are you still alive?”
“She must have a guardian angel,” one of the firefighters said.
“Was anyone hurt?” Fennel asked.
“Just a few bumps and bruises,” the firefighter replied. “Nothing serious.”
“Mostly a lot of annoyed drivers,” the patrolman added.
With everything squared away, I climbed into the passenger seat of Brad’s car, wincing at a sudden twinge in my back. My partner didn’t miss a trick, but he also knew I was stubborn as hell.
“You just want to drop more things in my lap,” he teased. “First, you send me back to the precinct to work on the Rodriguez angle, and then you call me to pick you up. Do I look like your chauffeur?”
“No. You need one of those little black caps.”
He reached for his phone and passed the tattoo verification off to someone else. “You sure, you’re okay, Liv? You really ought to get checked out.”
“I’m fine.” Even as I said the words, I could practically hear Emma lecturing me. “I don’t think it was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, but it was weird. Cars don’t just stall. The entire electrical system just turned off.”
He gave my hand a quick squeeze before reaching for the gearshift. “All that matters is you’re okay.”
I nodded, lost in thought.
Fourteen
“Hey, do you have a few minutes?” I asked.
“I thought you didn’t have time for me,” ADA Winters said, not bothering to look away from the brief he was reading.
“Things change.” I stepped inside and took a seat in front of his desk. “I actually have a favor to ask. Well, maybe a few favors.”
He looked up, surprised by my disheveled appearance. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I looked away, but he gently grabbed my chin and forced me to face him. “I got into a car accident.”
“Liv.” He reached for a bottle of water and poured it onto his handkerchief before pressing it against my still bleeding cut. “This is the DA’s office, not a hospital. I think you came to the wrong place.”
“No, I didn’t. I’m here because I need to get a search warrant signed.”
“And you couldn’t call the judge yourself?”
“Nope.”
“Do I want to know why not?”
“Well, the simple answer is my phone’s DOA. I’m guessing it happened in the accident.”
Logan’s eyes darted into the almost empty hallway, spotting Fennel lingering near the breakroom and chatting with one of the legal secretaries. “And your partner’s phone?”
My fingers accidentally brushed against his as I reached for the damp cloth he was still pressing against my eyebrow. “You can stop that now.” I took the cloth from him and pulled it away. “See, all better.”
He looked sheepish and dropped back into his chair. “Why are you here, Liv?”
“All right, so here’s the deal.” And I proceeded to tell him about what we found inside the hotel and the tattooed tow truck driver. “It all connects to Axel Kincaid.”
“You’re probably right, but you’ve been at this long enough to know that isn’t enough.”
“That’s why I came to see you. I was hoping you’d have a suggestion.”
“Get some actual evidence.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. Fennel brought Kincaid in for questioning last night. We thought he’d cooperate, but he has powerful friends. And he’s been at this long enough that he won’t even give an inch.”
“What about the partial prints from the bag?”
“Not a match, but he was in the bathroom where the money was stashed. And we found cocaine residue. Can’t we finagle these details into something usable?”
“It’s not solid enough.”
I glanced back out the door. This had been Brad’s idea, and I was desperate enough to go along with it. “Yeah, I know. And even if we tricked a judge into signing a warrant, it might get kicked out, along with whatever else we find, because the grounds are so flimsy.”
Winters snickered. “Well, if the cop thing doesn’t work out, you could always try your hand at law.” He probably believed the comment was a compliment rather than an insult. “What were the other favors you wanted?”
“We need a subpoena for Spark’s client list. We have grounds. Spark’s the only known connection between the two GTA victims, and since one of the car thieves killed a guy, it stands to reason we ought to investigate to the best of our ability.”
“That I can do,” Logan said. “Why did you wait so long to ask?”
“Kincaid’s connected. A lot of powerful people are on his client list, and the department’s coming under pressure to look elsewhere for a connection.”
“I see.” He made a note to draft the paperwork. “You’ll have it in the morning.”
“I always knew you were good for something.”
He waved a finger at me. “This means you owe me, DeMarco.” He nodded at Fennel, who was now leaning against the door. “It looks like you have your hands full.”
“Don’t I know it.” Brad met my eyes. “You ready to go, Liv?”
“Actually, I think I’ll hang around here for a bit,” I looked at Logan, “if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Walk me out, DeMarco,” my partner insisted, and I got up from the chair, feeling a stiffness in my back that hadn’t been there this morning. He waited until we were in the elevator before saying, “It wasn’t my intention to pimp you out. You don’t have to trade favors. You can say no.”
I slapped his arm. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”
He grinned. “Whatever you say.”
“I’m just not ready to go back to the apartment, not after this afternoon. Plus, Kincaid told me to lay low until tomorrow night. I had the surveillance team pulled off the apartment and rerouted to monitor more of Kincaid’s crew. I doubt they’d try anything after you raided the club, but y’never know.”
“It wasn’t much of a raid.”
The thought I’d been chasing all afternoon finally coalesced in my mind. “I’ve been thinking about the hotel. Rodriguez’s keycard allowed access to authorized areas and the garage. The maid’s keycard granted free reign of the guestrooms. Assuming the two are connected, if the killer had both keycards, he’d have unfettered access to anywhere in the hotel. Inside and out. Mac’s checking for anything out of the ordinary, but since Mr. Hart had a room reservation, maybe the thieves stole more than just his car.”
“He didn’t report anything missing.”
“Maybe he couldn’t.”
Fennel thought about what I said. “You think the contraband in the ceiling is his?”
“I don’t know, but the partials on the money didn’t match the partials on the outside of the plastic bag. And we don’t have Hart’s prints on file. If it is his cash, his prints might be on it.”
“You know, I like it much better when you aren’t banned from the precinct.” The elevator doors opened, and Brad stepped out. “I’ll add finding a creative way of getting Hart’s prints to the list of things I’m working on.”
“Hey.” I tugged on his arm and pulled him close. No
one was around, but I didn’t want anyone to overhear what I was about to say. “You know I depend on you. But if something’s going on and you need to step away from this, tell me.”
“Jesus, Liv,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “it was just a few drinks. I needed to blow off steam after Kincaid got kicked. It’s not a problem. I give you my word.” He tried to move away, but I grabbed his arm. “What?”
I hugged him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Always having my back.”
“You need to get your head examined. You might have a concussion or something. That would explain why you’re being neurotic.”
I stuck my tongue out and watched him walk away. “Drive safe,” I called, stepping back inside the elevator. My mind went back to the accident. Images of the totaled car, the sight of the concrete divider inches from me, and the sound of the passenger door crushing beneath the weight of the bus made my heart race.
Clinging to the rail, I needed to get a grip. It was a close call, but it had nothing to do with the job. It had to do with the uncertainty of life. And truth be told, it was the reason I didn’t want to go back to the apartment. I didn’t want to be alone behind enemy lines. I was tired of undercover work. This began as a sting to root out an underground casino and stop a car thief, and somehow, it turned into two homicides.
When the elevator stopped on the proper floor, I made my way to the ladies’ room and splashed some cold water on my face. I could barely keep it together. Who was I to dictate terms, especially to Brad? He’d seen a lot worse than I ever had. I’d probably drink too, but the problem wasn’t the drinking. It was when he let it get out of control. It had only happened once that I knew of, but it scared the hell out of me. I never wanted to see him like that again.
After a few deep breaths, I returned to Winters’ office. In the interim, he had finished reviewing the brief and cleared his desk. He hoisted a file box on top and smiled at me.
“I ordered dinner.”
“Impressive,” I retorted.