by G. K. Parks
I nodded. “The tow truck driver was there.”
“We know. We’ve set up roadblocks. Whenever they disband, we’ll ID his tattoo and scoop him up.”
“You’re not going to shut down the races?”
“It’s out of our jurisdiction. We notified the locals, but I’m guessing they already know about it. The mayor recently received a large anonymous donation to his campaign fund. I suspect its hush money to look the other way.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“Money talks, DeMarco.” He jerked his chin at Kincaid. “Case in point.” Fennel moved through the main room, checking the sofa cushions and glancing at the speakers.
“If you find any spare change, you can keep it,” Axel said, “unless you’re afraid someone might construe that as a bribe.”
Brad ignored the dig and looked behind the bar and in the kitchen. “Mind if I look in here?” He pointed to the door to the back room.
“Knock yourself out,” Axel said. “It’s not like I could stop you anyway.”
The back room held nothing but some hexagonal tables surrounded by chairs. A few bar carts, serving trays, and extra stools stood in the corner. It didn’t look nearly as fabulous as it did on the nights he used it to allegedly run his poker games or set up the races. That’s probably why vice never got anywhere on the underground casino front. Kincaid made an effort to keep things neat and tidy. He probably suspected a police raid every night. Or most nights. He probably knew all along he had a cop in his midst. It was no wonder our case had been subverted.
Fennel crouched down, probably looking for lost poker chips, but came up empty.
“Are you done, Detective? Or do you want to volunteer to clean the bathrooms? The floors could use a good scrubbing.” Axel was getting impatient. My gut said he was nervous. I just wasn’t sure why.
Fennel approached the office in the back. He reached in and flipped on the light. Brad checked the shelves, the closet, and the desk. When he opened the middle drawer, he smiled. “I suppose you have a permit for this?” He hooked the handgun on the end of his pen and held it up. “It looks like a forty caliber. The same type used to kill Juan Rodriguez.”
“That isn’t mine,” Axel insisted.
“This is your office, right?” Fennel glanced at the nameplate on the door.
“Yes, but most of my employees have access to it.”
“In that case, who left the gun in your office?”
Kincaid narrowed his eyes at the weapon. “I don’t know, but I will find out.” He sneered at us. “How do I know you didn’t plant that while I was gone?”
“Tell it to the judge,” I muttered.
Brad stepped closer. “Axel Kincaid you’re under arrest. Let’s see you get out of this one.” He passed Axel off to the uniform who read him his rights. At least we finally had the bastard in custody. He wouldn’t slip away again.
Eighteen
No prints were found on the gun. Ballistics had yet to come back, but if it was a match to the slugs we pulled out of Juan Rodriguez, we’d finally be able to put this case behind us. Axel Kincaid wasn’t stupid, and I didn’t think he’d leave the murder weapon out in the open. But he was arrogant. Still, to leave the gun in his desk with his office door open was just sloppy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he didn’t care. Or maybe he figured under the circumstances, he could claim someone else entered his office and left it. No matter how I twisted the facts, they didn’t make a lot of sense.
“We have Fox in the box.” Grayson grinned. “Damn, I could be the next Dr. Seuss.”
“Yes, you could.”
“You want to take a crack at him, DeMarco?”
I pushed away from my desk. “Yeah, thanks.” Brad fell into step beside me, and we entered the interrogation room.
Fox looked like he might be sick. “I should have fucking known. Selling drugs my ass. Despite that cop stink, you spent a lot of nights in that cage.” He grinned evilly. “Bet it got you off, didn’t it? You liked being helpless and locked up for once.”
Brad stepped forward. “Watch your mouth. You’re speaking to a lady.”
“Some lady. I’d say she’s more of a c—” His attorney nudged him hard, and he fell silent.
I took a seat across from him. “Things don’t look good for you. We found your DNA beneath Becca’s fingernails. She got a hold of you, didn’t she? Is that why you took the crowbar to her skull?”
“I didn’t hit her,” Fox said.
Fennel flipped open the ME’s report and plucked out the photographs, placing them on the table in front of Fox. “You did more than hit her.”
“I told you. I didn’t do this.” Fox shoved the photos away and turned to stare at the wall.
“Well, she scratched you, so you better tell us how that happened,” Brad said.
Fox glanced at his attorney, who nodded. “It’s not what it looks like.” He blew out a breath.
“Becca was a fighter. If you hadn’t overpowered her, she probably would have done a lot worse than scratch you,” I said.
“I know who she was.” Fox’s eye twitched. “She didn’t scratch me like that. She must have dug her nails into my back.” He exhaled slowly. “We had sex. After I dropped Emilio off at home, I spotted Becca near her usual corner. You said you sold her an eight ball, so I figured she might want to party. She denied it when I asked, but since I had nowhere else to be, I figured what the hell.”
“How romantic,” I muttered.
“I didn’t kill her,” Fox insisted. “When I left, she was alive and two hundred bucks richer.”
“What time was that?” Brad asked.
Fox thought for a moment. “Around 1:30. Maybe 2:00.”
“Where’d you do the deed?” I asked.
“The back seat of my car.”
“Did you see anyone else nearby?” I asked. “Did you see Becca with anyone when you were leaving?”
“No. She got out of the car, and I drove off. That was it.” He stared at me. “I didn’t fucking kill her.”
“Did she tell you I was a cop?”
Fox chuckled. “You’re shitting me, right? I didn’t know you were a pig until the second you stepped foot in this room.”
“I need to talk to you outside for a sec,” I said to my partner. We excused ourselves and went into the hallway. “Has his vehicle been searched?”
“It’s already been impounded, and we searched his apartment. No signs of a struggle. No traces of blood.”
“Let’s make sure those scratch marks are on his back, and let’s get someone to canvass his building and find out if anyone remembers what time he got home that night.”
“On it.” Brad strode down the hall.
Ducking back into interrogation, I finished with Fox and asked one final question. “Did Axel Kincaid ever say anything to you about Rebecca Johnson?”
“Just that I should stay away from her.”
“Why?”
Fox shrugged. “How should I know? Axel has rules for everything.”
“Becca told me a story. It sounded like Axel was running girls. Do you know anything about that? Maybe Becca was one of his girls.”
“If she was, that’s news to me. And I should have gotten a discount.”
Disgusted, I left the room. While mulling over the possibilities, I watched the parade of Spark’s clientele entering the precinct. I had yet to confront Axel, but he had a list a mile long of witnesses to alibi him out. Furthermore, since the gun was found in his club and he claimed anyone could have placed it, we now had to question everyone who had been inside since the shooting. This was ridiculous, but Axel had clout. Even though it was my investigation, he was pulling the strings.
The desk phone rang, and I grabbed it. Ballistics came back. The gun in Kincaid’s desk drawer was a match to the weapon used to kill Juan Rodriguez. We finally had our smoking gun.
“Son of a bitch.” Tired of being jerked around, I barked, “Where’s Kincaid?”
“Interroga
tion room three,” the sergeant said.
Barging inside, I stared at the smug asshole with the permanent smirk etched on his face. “Something funny?”
“Not in the least, Detective.” Kincaid gestured at the empty chair. “I’ve been waiting for someone to speak to me. I just didn’t realize it would be you.”
Unlike Fox’s attorney, the man in the three thousand dollar suit didn’t appear to give a fuck about any of this. Perhaps, it was beneath him, but more than likely, it was because Kincaid called the shots. The lawyer was just here to mop up the potential fallout.
“Tell me why you were at the hotel four days ago,” I insisted.
“I had a meeting.”
“In the bathroom?”
Kincaid shook his head. “It was canceled.”
“Who were you meeting?”
Kincaid leaned forward and rested his palms on the table. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“You can’t come up with a name because it’s bullshit.” I narrowed my eyes, watching him for any tics or twitches, but Axel was cool as a cucumber. “We matched the gun from your office to the one used to kill Juan Rodriguez.”
“I don’t know Juan Rodriguez.”
“He was a parking attendant at the hotel. You shot him at point-blank range, and then you stole a car. Ring any bells?”
“Why the fuck would I steal a car? A few hours ago, you were beside me in one of my cars. Why the hell would I need or want another car?”
“Maybe you got tired of the color or wanted something else Italian.”
He grinned, a slight chuckle escaping. “I definitely want something else Italian, Detective DeMarco, but it isn’t a yellow Ferrari.”
Slamming my palm against the table, I circled, watching his reflection in the two-way mirror. “Why were you in the hotel? We’re going to figure it out, but if you cooperate, things will go a lot easier for you.”
“I told you. I had a meeting. It was canceled at the last minute, and I left. I went straight to Spark, and I didn’t leave again until the following morning. We’ve already gone over this. Your partner already asked me about this the first time he dragged me down here.” He scooted closer to the table. “Don’t you think if I killed a man and stole a half a million dollar sports car that I would have had to take a detour to hide the car or get rid of the gun?”
“You wiped the gun and left it in your desk drawer. You brought it back to Spark, and since that’s the only place you went after the murder and heist, your supposed explanation just makes you look guiltier.”
Kincaid fought to keep his anger in check, but the interrogation affected him. “How stupid do you think I am?” His lawyer tucked the phone away and put a hand on Axel’s forearm, a silent warning to shut up.
I stared into his eyes. “I’m not sure.”
“Then where did I hide the car you think I stole?” Kincaid asked. “Have you found that yet? Wouldn’t you need that and some sort of evidence in order to make these ridiculous claims stick?”
The attorney cleared his throat, but Axel pretended not to notice. He was on a roll, so I let him continue. He’d bury himself eventually.
“It’s circumstantial at best. I didn’t shoot anyone. You haven’t located the car. I didn’t know Juan Rodriguez, so I don’t have a motive. And here’s the biggest question of all. Why would I help you with your investigation if I was to blame?”
“Help me?” I practically choked. “You think this is helpful?”
He leaned back. The smirk reappeared on his face. “I knew damn well who you were, and I showed you the illegal car races and the gambling anyway. I even helped identify some of the people involved. I cooperated with your investigation, and you turned around and accused me of murder. That isn’t very nice.”
“Stop playing me.”
“Oh, I’d like nothing more than to play with you, but this isn’t how I play. I didn’t kill anyone, and I’m not responsible for the GTAs. I have no motive. If I wanted a bright yellow car, I would have bought one. I wouldn’t have to steal it. I’m not that kid from the streets. Not anymore. I’m a man with a thriving business and a nine-figure bank account. You have my financials. You know it’s true. So unless you have something else, I’ll be walking out that door soon enough.”
“What about Rebecca Johnson?”
“The prostitute?” Axel snorted. “Seriously, what is this? Next, you’re going to accuse me of jaywalking.”
“Was she one of your girls?”
“Oh, so now I run a prostitution ring too? Is that my main focus, or are cars still my thing?” He glared. “The PD needs to get its act together. I’m not the devil, Liv, but I do have a time-share in hell. The weather’s usually lovely this time of year. You should go there. My treat.”
Mr. Almeada, the attorney, cleared his throat. “To clarify, that was sarcasm. Not a confession.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
Nineteen
This was taking too long. He checked his watch. The police were intentionally dragging their feet. He didn’t have time for this. In twenty minutes, the device would detonate. He set the timer hours ago to coordinate precisely with the security update. It was his only window of opportunity, or else, he’d have to wait another month. And that wasn’t an option when he already had the cars in his possession and transport secured on a cargo ship. Everything was ready. If only they hadn’t found the gun in the desk drawer.
He watched the police officers stroll past the room. They weren’t in a rush, and they didn’t care if anyone else was. He exhaled, closing his eyes and forcing his mind to relax. His partners didn’t get caught during the police roundup, so they would be at the hotel to take care of business. The plan was in motion. This was precisely why they had fail-safes in place.
He couldn’t have asked for a more perfect alibi than being inside a police station, but he would have preferred the thrill of the front lines. It irked him. This was his plan. He masterminded it. He found the buyers, arranged for the removal and transportation, and now he was stuck here, breathing in the stale air. A cross between a coffee shop and a locker room. He regretted not getting to see it all come to fruition. But his presence would clear him of all suspicion in the eyes of the law. Maybe it was for the best.
He turned his head and watched her through the open door as she stormed down the hall. She was angry, which he found oddly arousing. Truthfully, he was relieved she wasn’t dead. It meant he had a chance to spend some quality time with her before their game came to an end and he disappeared for good.
* * *
“Where are we on locating the white SUV?” I asked the moment Brad returned to the bullpen.
“It’s not in Axel’s garage. There’s no record of him owning or leasing such a vehicle. And none of the SUVs he owns have been repainted. We didn’t find anything with Fox either. But we did find a recent charge in Spark’s account to a rental agency. Apparently, the club rented a white SUV last week for a few hours.”
“That doesn’t help us, unless we can place it at the hotel or prove Kincaid accessed it around the time of the heist.” I considered various ways Axel might have been able to gain access to the vehicle again, but none were particularly feasible. “Dammit.”
“He’s a car thief, Liv. It stands to reason he’d know how to get a car and how to make it disappear.”
“We need to identify his accomplices. At least two other men were involved in the heist. I want to know who they are.”
“We’re working on it,” Brad promised. “Marvin Struthers, the tow truck driver, got scooped up late last night when he was leaving the race. Captain Grayson is speaking to him, but from what we can tell, he’s nothing more than a repo man.”
“A repo man who stole a different SUV the same night the hotel got hit. He’s no repo man.” I glanced at the captain’s darkened office. “He was at the hotel the same time Kincaid was. He’s involved.”
“That’s why Grayson’s conducting the interview pe
rsonally. We have quite a bit on Mr. Struthers since we picked him up after the races, but he actually had paperwork documenting the repossession of the SUV he towed away. He’s claiming he didn’t steal it. He was just doing his job.”
“Where is it now?” I asked.
“In a private lot.”
“I thought the stolen SUV belonged to a car service.”
“It did, but the owners got into a financial mess and put a few of their vehicles up as collateral against a loan. When the loan came due and they couldn’t pay, Struthers picked up the SUV.”
“So he isn’t a car thief?”
“It doesn’t appear so, but like you said, he was at the hotel around the same time Kincaid was. And he’s involved with the underground racing. He’s connected, somehow.”
I reached for Spark’s member list, but Marvin Struthers wasn’t on it. Kincaid told me he wasn’t a member, and given Struthers’ blue-collar job, I doubted he would be. But still, there was overlap that couldn’t be explained away.
Grabbing Kincaid’s phone records, I scanned for any calls or messages between the two. Still nothing. “Did Kincaid’s ISP hand over his internet activity yet?”
“It just came in an hour ago,” Fennel said. “I barely had a chance to scan it, but I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary.”
I read through Axel’s recent e-mail correspondence, hoping something would pop. But it didn’t. “What are we missing?”
Fennel sighed. “I don’t know. The follow-up with Hart didn’t yield any positive results either. We did get a four-point match between his prints and a partial on one of the stacks of cash, but it’s not enough to be conclusive.”
“What do the techs think?”
“The money probably belongs to Hart, but the partial was too small to be a match to anyone because it was on the edge of the bills.”
I drummed my nails on the desk. “Does Hart own a white SUV?”
“You think he hired someone to steal his car?”
“I don’t know. All I know is the same SUV was used to dump Becca at the hospital, which means there has to be evidence inside. We have to find the SUV or the stolen cars. Without them, this is going to be a wash. And Kincaid will walk.”