Wild Spring

by Tripp Ellis

  Landon put down the paint roller and raised his hands in the air. JD marched into the room and ratcheted the cuffs around his wrists.

  "Be careful," Landon said. "Don't track paint across the carpet."

  Jack scowled at him, then looked at the bottom of his checkered Vans. There wasn’t any paint on the treads.

  Landon checked his shoes before stepping off the drop cloth onto the light carpet. He was still wearing his old work shoes, speckled with paint drops in various colors. I’m not sure what he had done with the Aaron Jackson signature shoes. I hoped they were in his truck.

  We escorted him down the hall and spiraled down the stairs.

  The redhead watched with a mix of shock and intrigue.

  JD dragged Landon across the well-manicured lawn and stuffed him into the back of the patrol car.

  “What did he do?” the redhead asked.

  “Murdered Chuck Kennedy,” I said.

  She gasped and clutched her chest. “That seems so unlike Landon. Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive, ma’am.”

  “Emory,” she said. “My name’s Emory Cox.”

  “Well, Mrs. Cox—"

  “Ms. Cox,” she corrected with a flirty glimmer in her eyes. “I’m recently divorced.”

  “How long have you known Landon?”

  “Years now. He’s always done work around the house. My ex-husband found him, but I got him in the divorce.” She smiled.

  It seemed like she had gotten a lot in the divorce. The house was nice. So was the Jaguar in the driveway.

  I had to ask. “Is your ex-husband still living?”

  “Unfortunately.” She made a face. “I shouldn’t say that. I don’t wish ill on anyone. But he sure did make the divorce difficult.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but are you involved with Landon in any way?”

  She looked taken aback. “No. He’s strictly a handyman. And not in the way you’re thinking. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a card, Deputy? Perhaps we should keep in contact? You can update me on the case. It’s really hard to believe I’ve been so close to a murderer all this time.”

  I gave her my card and thanked her for her cooperation.

  “Anytime, Deputy. I shudder to think what would have happened had you not apprehended him. I could have been his next victim. You never know.”

  “You never know,” I agreed.

  Her eyes sparkled at me.

  We searched Landon’s truck before leaving. We had probable cause and a warrant now. But the Aaron Jacksons weren’t there. He must have ditched them.

  A tow truck showed up shortly thereafter and impounded the vehicle.

  At the station, Landon was put into an interrogation room, and I called Brenda to let her know that we had the weapon logged into evidence.

  We interrogated Landon once again. Sitting under the pale glow of the fluorescent lights, he didn't seem flustered at all. He was more annoyed than anything else. He had walked out of here a free man the last time, and I was sure he thought this interrogation would end the same way.

  Landon’s smug grin faded when I placed copies of the email messages he exchanged with Nadia onto the table.

  "That's conspiracy. Hard evidence that you two were plotting to kill Chuck Kennedy and make it look like a gang-related murder."

  "That's not proof of anything,” Landon said. "That's merely a conversation. I don't see Chuck's name mentioned anywhere. I don't see any direct reference to murder. This conversation could have been in reference to anything. And my email address could have been spoofed.”

  “Spoofed? You’re trying to say you didn’t send those emails?” I scoffed. “A jury’s not gonna buy that story. Our IT guys can authenticate the emails. We have pictures and videos that demonstrate you were having an affair which you already admitted to. This mountain of evidence leads to one inevitable conclusion.”

  "Circumstantial. Your mountain of evidence is purely circumstantial. What you don't have is a murder weapon."

  I smiled. “We’re working on that."

  I let it hang there for a moment, curiosity and concern brewing in Landon’s eyes.

  “Tell me what happened with Nadia last night?" I asked.

  "I don't know what happened. I wasn't with Nadia last night."

  “She was with somebody else, but you caught them together.”

  His face crinkled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  "You caught her banging the doctor, and you shot both of them. You couldn’t help yourself.”

  His face went blank. “Nadia’s dead?"

  "Cut the crap," JD said.

  "You had a key to her place, and you knew the code to the alarm,” I said. “You entered through the back door, made your way down the hall, and killed them both.”

  JD plopped the sneakers we recovered from the canal onto the table. They were in an evidence bag, still soggy.

  Landon’s eyes rounded for a moment.

  “You bought new shoes that were a size too large, and you left the footprints on purpose to throw us off track."

  Landon swallowed hard. "You guys have an active imagination. I want to speak with a lawyer."

  "What's the matter? Not so confident you’ll get away with it now?”

  45

  "I've got something you need to see," Denise said, finding us in the hallway after we left Landon in the interrogation room.

  "I bet you’ve got a few things I need to see," JD said with a lecherous gaze.

  Denise shot him a look. "Case related. Follow me."

  She spun around and marched to her desk. We followed the luscious redhead as her hips swayed from side to side.

  "Smokeless gunpowder was used in the pipe bomb,” she said. “The pipe, end caps, wiring, and batteries all came from Improvement Depot. I called the store and asked for a list of receipts for those materials. The day before the bombing, all those items were purchased with cash. Surveillance cameras captured the purchase on video. The store manager sent a copy of the footage over. He didn't even ask for a warrant." Denise smiled with pride. “Did I do good, or did I do good?”

  "You did great," I said.

  She pulled up the video on her flatscreen display, and we huddled around her desk. The ultra-high-definition footage was crisp and clear. The man who purchased the materials wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. The high angle of the camera made it difficult to see his facial features. There was no way to say with absolute certainty who it was, but the man had the same physical build as Slater.

  "That's him," JD said. "No two ways about it."

  I agreed, but it was an optimistic assessment. There was reasonable doubt, and a jury might not convict on the footage alone.

  "Timestamp on the footage is 1:32 PM," Denise said.

  Both JD and I filled out sworn affidavits stating that we believed the man in the video was Slater Magnus and Judge Simmons signed off on the warrant.

  I looked at my watch. It was late afternoon, and the sun angled toward the horizon. "Let's wait for Slater to show up at the club, then we’ll take him down.”

  "That ought to put a smile on Nico's face," JD said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  We had time to kill, so we grabbed dinner and waited for nightfall. Nico and his boys tended to show up at the club in the early evening. But since having moved the gambling operation, there was no telling when they might turn up.

  After dinner, we drove by La Baldoria to scope things out. Nico’s Anson-Barton was parked behind the club, and I felt confident Slater was inside with him.

  We headed back to the station and gathered a tactical team that consisted of Erickson, Faulkner, Mendoza, and Robinson. We loaded into the black-armored tactical van. The driver cranked up the diesel engine. It clattered and roared as we left the station.

  The big behemoth rumbled down the road, the giant knobby tires whirring against the concrete. The interior smelled
like diesel and oil, and we bounced around.

  The vehicle was built like a tank. It could roll over an IED, and the occupants would still survive. Your ears might ring for a few days, and you’d have a helluva headache, but you'd probably walk away from it. Not that I wanted to find out.

  We pulled by the rear entrance to the club, and Mendoza and Robinson hopped out to secure the back entrance. We climbed out with Faulkner and Erickson and advanced around the front of the building.

  “Coconut County! We have a warrant," JD shouted at the bouncer.

  We stormed past the line, filing into the club with our rifles at the ready. It was pure shock & awe. Patrons screamed and parted as we marched through the club and made a beeline toward Slater. He was in the VIP section with Nico and the other goons. Slater quickly found himself on the wrong end of our assault rifles.

  "Down on the ground! Now!" I shouted.

  Nico and his goons looked on with confusion. They exchanged wary glances, but nobody resisted.

  Slater's face tensed. He knelt down and put his ugly mug to the ground with his hands behind his head.

  "He’s armed," I cautioned as Faulkner and Erickson frisked him and slapped cuffs around his thick wrists, then yanked him to his feet.

  "Don't say a word," Nico advised. "I'll have you out in a jiffy."

  Slater glared at us as Erickson and Faulkner dragged him away.

  I wanted to make a spectacle of the whole thing. I wanted Nico to see us take down Slater and know that the walls were closing in around him.

  Nico and I stared at each other for a long moment.

  "You're next," I said.

  Nico kept his mouth shut. The muscles in his jaw flexed. I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. He was spooked.

  We followed the other deputies out of the club, climbed into the tactical vehicle, and closed the hatch. The engine growled as we lurched forward, and I read Slater his rights.

  He was silent on the journey back to the station. He kept his head down, staring at the floor.

  The whole thing had gone off a lot smoother than I anticipated.

  The big guy was processed, printed, and put into an interrogation room.

  Denise had printed a still frame of the man buying the bomb materials at Improvement Depot. I set the photo on the table in front of Slater in the interrogation room. I let it sit there for a moment.

  Slater surveyed it but didn't flinch. "What's that?"

  "That's you buying stuff to make a pipe bomb," I said.

  "Doesn’t look like me."

  I picked up the photo and held it next to his face for comparison. I did it strictly for dramatic purposes. My eyes flicked from the real thing to the reproduction. "Sure looks like you."

  I set the photo on the table in front of him again.

  "Doesn't look like me at all. Maybe you need glasses."

  I snarked. "A comedian."

  "I'll be at the Laugh House all next week,” he deadpanned. “You should come see my show."

  "You won't be anywhere next week except the county lockup."

  "I hope you’ve got something more than a grainy picture of a guy who doesn't even resemble me."

  "Where were you between 1 and 2 PM on the day before the explosion?"

  "What explosion?"

  My jaw tensed. "The one that killed Nico's sister."

  He shook his head. "A terrible tragedy."

  "Where were you?"

  "I was with Nico and Griffin.”

  “You really think Nico's gonna lie for you after you killed his sister?"

  "I didn't kill anybody."

  “I gotta say, I’m impressed. It’s amazing how you can sit there so disconnected from reality, not showing a trace of emotion. Didn’t you care about Caprice at all? You must have known her for quite some time. Don’t you have the slightest bit of guilt or remorse?”

  He stared at me dead in the eye, and his expression never changed. “It’s a tragedy. But she’s clearly dead because of you. You seem like a guy with a lot of enemies. Must be dangerous for your friends and family.”

  My blood boiled. I wanted to launch across the table and strangle the bastard.

  Denise poked her head into the interrogation room. “I’ve got something you might find interesting.”

  Her pretty eyes flicked ominously to Slater as I pushed away from the table and approached. She whispered the most delightful phrase in my ear.

  46

  “I just heard some really interesting news.” I sat at the table across from Slater with a confident grin on my face. He tried to read my expression, and I could see the fear in his eyes.

  “Seems like you screwed up,” I continued.

  His eyes surveyed me closely.

  “When you purchased the materials for the pipe bomb, you got a fingerprint on the inside of an end cap. You assembled the device, wiped it down, but by that time, you’d already sealed your fate. It’s a rookie mistake.”

  Slater’s unshakable demeanor began to quiver.

  “The way I see it, you can face a whole host of charges and spend the rest of your life in prison. Or you can testify that Nico ordered the hit which went horribly wrong. Maybe it gets dropped to Murder 2, and you get the possibility of parole.”

  “I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life in prison.”

  “Suit yourself. Take some time, think about it. You think Nico would keep quiet for you?”

  I pushed away from the table and left the scumbag in the interrogation room.

  We spoke with Daniels in the hallway.

  “Put him in protective custody,” I said. “I don’t want that guy mysteriously turning up dead. A couple days in solitary, and he might decide to talk.”

  Daniels agreed. “On a positive note, Brenda matched Landon’s gun to both murders.”

  My brow raised with astonishment. “That’s great. How?”

  “Apparently, Landon stuck a screwdriver down the barrel and altered the rifling. It made the markings on the bullets look different. Brenda poured a silicone mold into the barrel and got an impression. That impression matched perfectly. Chuck, Nadia, and Dr. Spencer were all shot with the same gun. Landon’s gun. He did his little screwdriver trick after each murder.”

  “That’s great. Think it will convince a jury?”

  “That guy is never seeing the light of day again,” Daniels said with confidence.

  That was definitely a bright spot to the evening.

  “I think this calls for a cocktail,” JD said.

  I wasn’t in a celebratory mood, but a drink didn’t sound bad.

  Deputies Janik and Grogan removed Slater from the interrogation room and escorted him down the hall. They stepped out the back entrance, moving across the lot to the detention center.

  A moment later, the muffled sound of gunfire erupted from the parking lot.

  A spike of adrenaline rushed through me. JD and I raced down the hall, rounded the corner, and pushed outside.

  A white van squealed out of the parking lot.

  It didn't have any plates.

  The two deputies were down, as well as Slater. Blood stained the concrete, and the men writhed and groaned in agony.

  JD and I rushed to give aid to the wounded. Other deputies and county personnel spilled out of the station to assist.

  A moment later, several patrol cars raced out of the lot, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

  The chase was on.

  Deputy Janik was gone by the time I got to him. My fingertips couldn’t feel a pulse. His lifeless body lay on the concrete, oozing blood. A bullet had caught him in the neck, and another had vaporized a large chunk of his brain. His body still twitched involuntarily.

  My stomach twisted, and my heart sank.

  JD tried to keep Deputy Grogan alive, keeping his palms pressed against his gaping chest wounds. Jack offered words of encouragement. “Hang in there, Grogan!”

  Slater had taken a bullet to the leg and chest. Blood spurted from his femoral
artery in rhythmic pulses like a fountain. I tried to stem the tide, clamping the artery. He’d bleed out within a matter of minutes without adequate pressure.

  Sirens filled the air, and ambulances screeched onto the scene moments later. The EMTs took over, and I backed away, my hands once again crusted with someone else's blood.

  As much as I couldn't stand Slater, I needed him alive. He was our link to Nico. Apparently, Nico felt like Slater was a threat and needed to be silenced.

  Daniels ordered Tango One into the air, and the helicopter unit scrambled.

  47

  A crowd of county personnel gathered in the parking lot, looking on with horror and disbelief.

  The EMTs and paramedics stabilized the two survivors. They were rushed to the ER for treatment.

  “If he survives, I want that scumbag guarded round the clock,” Daniels barked. “Mendoza, Robinson… get to the hospital now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mendoza replied.

  The sheriff’s steely eyes found mine. “I’m this close to taking the leash off you two. Find the scumbags responsible.”

  “You got it,” I said.

  “Now I’ve got to go make a very unpleasant phone call to Tom Janik’s wife and somehow explain that their two kids are going to grow up without a father.”

  I grimaced again, thinking about Janik’s family. The whole department would be out for blood. Nico had just made a big mistake.

  We pushed back inside and found a restroom. We washed the blood off our hands.

  When I stepped back into the hallway, Daniels said, “They found the white van on Shiner Avenue. Occupants escaped. Van is on fire.”

  JD and I hustled out of the station, hopped into the red Porsche, and sped across the island. By the time we arrived, the fire department was dousing the van. The once pristine exterior was now charred black. Smoke billowed into the air, and neighbors gathered around to gawk at the spectacle. The vehicle had been ditched on a neighborhood street, and the occupants presumably took off on foot.

  Patrol cars and emergency vehicles flooded the area. The flashing lights painted nearby houses an array of colors. When the smoke cleared and the flames had been extinguished, we examined the van with the forensics investigators.