"What do you want?" She hadn't heard from the man since Rich went to jail. He'd been to the trial. He'd seen the shit show.
"I deserve the hostility. I'm sorry I haven't contacted you before this."
"It was kind of you to give Rich my number." She glanced at Brock who was pretending not to listen. She sighed loudly and hit the icon to put the call on speaker phone.
"I fell for his line of bullshit. Never again. He's obsessed with finding you, Kallie. He's called me at least fifty times in the last two days. I finally blocked him, but you needed to be warned. He isn't the man I used to know." Lance cleared his throat, the words catching as he spoke.
"I've done everything I can. I changed my name. Moved. I'll be ready for him if he finds me." She glanced over at Brock again. The man's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and his jaw was clenched tight. Yeah, she wanted to strangle something, too. Damn, would Rich ever stop haunting her?
"He won't get a thing from me, but look, in full disclosure, I'm all the family he has left."
"Okay… and?"
"And I live in Hope City. He may show up here."
"I'm not going to ask how you know I'm in Hope City. I wasn't aware the NSA had a satellite office here."
"I moved here about two years ago. I have my own business. Government pay sucks."
"Right. Okay. Thanks for the warning."
"Kallie, be careful. He's... not right."
The crazed texts on her phone flashed through her mind. God, Rich's brother was a certified genius, and he'd just realized that? "I'll watch my six. Thanks for the heads up."
"I guess this is goodbye, then."
"I would imagine it is."
"Have a good life, Kallie. You deserve it."
"Goodbye, Lance. The same to you."
She hung up the phone as Brock asked, "Is there something I need to know?"
The huff of air she expelled was supposed to be a laugh, but she missed the target by a mile. "Rich, my ex, has gone over the edge. His brother, who used to work for the NSA, is now living in Hope City. Lance is Rich's only living relative so the likelihood of him showing up here is good."
"How did Lance know you lived in Hope City? You changed your name?"
"Lance is an... uber hacker? He tried to explain it once, but he claims he hasn't found a system he can't access. If he wants to know something, he can find it. Anyway, he said that Rich had called fifty times in the last two days. And yes, my married name was Clarkson, my maiden name was Booth and I changed it to Redman."
"Why Redman?"
"It was on the advertisement I saw when I was completing the paperwork. I think it was a pest control ad."
"No shit?"
"No shit. Pest control. I needed to control Rich. It made sense at the time."
Brock chuckled. "Well damn, love that rationale. Okay, so Rich was pumping his brother for information on you?"
"Probably, I didn't ask, but that is a logical conclusion."
"Do we need to get a restraining order?"
"Nah. If he shows up, he's not going to be stalking me. He'll try to kill me. But I'm not a defenseless prostitute with a drug problem. I'll take him out or make him wish he were dead before he kills me."
"If there is an imminent threat, you need to let Davidson know."
"I can do that."
"What can I do for you?"
"This is good. Just... this."
"You got it." He glanced over and winked. "Now about those taxi companies?"
She chuckled and woke her phone. "On it." God, he was the perfect partner. No drama. No posturing, he-man shit. Find the facts, decide a course of action, and move forward. She hit the hyperlinked number on the web page and put the phone to her ear. Yet another reason she was attracted to this man.
11
His jaw was clenched so damn tight, his teeth were breaking. That bastard had better not show up in Hope City or he'd wish he was still in jail. He had a name now, Rich Clarkson, and Brock had connections—connections within Guardian which meant he had global reach. If he needed to do it, he'd use them to find this asshole. Kallie didn't need to worry about this son of a bitch, but he wasn't going to overstep and take away her control of the situation either. It killed him to be still, not to act. The fucker had already killed in cold blood.
He listened as Kallie ran through the taxis companies and then called the car service Treyson used. "That was a strike out. One had no fares to the area. The other one refuses to go to the warehouse areas due to an incident last year. One of their drivers was killed?"
"Yeah, a strung-out kid killed the driver and injured the passenger. He was looking for money. Found a fuck-ton more than that. He shot one of the local gang lord's old lady. She had a flat tire and had hired a taxi to take her to meet her man. We arrested the kid. He was tried, convicted, and remanded. He didn't make it three weeks in the pen."
"What happened?"
He parked at the precinct and killed the engine. "Killed by one of Peña's crew. The man, Sanchez, who took the kid out, is Peña’s enforcer behind bars. Sanchez is doing life, times seven."
"All because the punk was doped up and in search of money for drugs."
"Yeah. I don't know how my brother works the J-DET team. You stop one hemorrhage, and another starts."
"You know he’d say the same thing about what you do." Kallie shouldered the car door, opening it against the wind.
He followed her rushed hustle into the building. "Probably." They climbed the stairs and both diverted to the break room for coffee.
"I'll go talk to Davidson now and let him know about my dick-wad ex." She didn't wait for an answer, but turned on her heel, coffee in hand, and headed to the Lieutenant's office.
His phone vibrated in his coat as he crossed the bullpen. He grabbed it from his pocket and answered, "King."
"Found your McLaren... kinda." Brody's voice fought against the sound of the wind through the mic on his phone.
"Where are you?"
"West of town by the Cascade River. Your car was found totaled."
"How?"
"Probably when it launched from Skyline Ridge and hit the river. It lodged hard. Airbags deployed. The tow truck just brought it up. The interior is filled with sediment. If there was any evidence in that vehicle, it's buried deep, but I'm having it sent to the lab using a priority tag on it based on the case. If there is anything in it, it is going to be under about five hundred pounds of muck."
"Shit."
"A succinct summation."
He looked up and watched Kallie stride across the open area. "So, either the killer took the car for a joyride and dumped it, or someone stole it, didn’t know how to handle all that horsepower, and it ended up in the river."
"Sounds about right. I've got my guys going over the bank up above, but with the recent snow, there isn't much chance of finding anything."
"Appreciate it."
"No problem, I'll add it to the number of favors you owe me."
"Without a doubt. See you Sunday." He disconnected the call and dropped into his chair.
"They found the McLaren?"
"Lodged in a riverbank, buried in sediment."
She sat down. "Damn. Okay, so traffic cameras?"
"It's a possibility. We can call tech and see if they have any cameras, but if I were a criminal, I wouldn't drive that flashy ass car through the city."
"Yeah, back roads. It never hurts to ask, though."
"Concur. Tech's number is on the directory. Give them a call while I run down Treyson's appointments on Wednesday."
"Roger that." She grabbed the laminated piece of paper from the top of the desk and picked up the desk phone.
Brock sat straight, popping his back and stretching his arms. Whoever said a cop’s life was full of action and adventure had no fucking concept of what they actually did. Hours upon hours of following threads to find dead ends. Days of tracking minute details only to realize the information was irrelevant or overcome by even
ts. A detective's life was ninety-nine percent Blood Hound and one percent Rottweiler.
He glanced at his watch. Fuck, they'd worked through lunch and past dinner. "How far have you gotten?"
Kallie glanced up at him and blinked. "I've worked through the last meeting of the day. You?"
Brock opened his mouth to answer but snapped it shut when he looked up. One of the beat cops escorted a bicycle courier across the bullpen toward them.
"This dude said he can't release this shit to anyone but Detective Brock King."
Brock stood.
"You'll need to sign for it... after I see identification, please."
The man looked absolutely ridiculous with his helmet perched over his knit skull cap. How anyone rode a bike in this weather was beyond him. He reached for his creds and flipped them for the guy.
"Cool. Sign?" He handed Brock a tablet.
He scribbled his name and watched as the man produced envelope after envelope from his leather tote. The man turned and left with the patrolman right on his ass.
"What the fuck?" Brock opened one of the manila envelopes stacked neatly on Jordan's desk. Kallie moved over to look at the paper. Brock scanned the document. "These are the guys who Sebastian Treyson thinks hate him enough to come after his son."
The briefs were concise. The conflict between Sebastian and the person named. The date it happened, the consequences, which, going by the file in his hand, was financial ruin for the other party, and then... Transcribed voice messages and texts, each threatening to ruin Treyson.
"How many are there?"
Kallie did a quick count. "Twenty-seven."
Holy hell. Twenty-fucking-seven more suspects. This insanity had to stop. They needed to work the man's last twenty-four hours. These other distractions... fuck him... He raked his hand through his hair and drew a deep breath, thinking out loud more than directing. "Okay. We need to ask Davidson to release those extra bodies now. We can have them run these to ground and look for ties to Samuel—recency, proximity, opportunity. We'll absorb any that pan out, but if we start chasing this, we'll never get through what we already have." He glanced at his watch. "Let's talk to Davidson."
Kallie motioned to the document envelopes. "What do you want to do with this?"
"Bring them with us." They loaded up and made their way to Davidson's office.
"Damn it, I see you two more than I see my wife," Davidson snarked as they walked in.
"Yeah, well I won't tell her if you don't." Kallie returned fire without missing a beat.
The woman fit this precinct. A perfect fit.
"What is this?"
"Twenty-seven additional suspects."
Davidson cocked his head at them and narrowed his eyes. "The fuck did you just say?"
"Treyson's old man. These are the people he believes would be willing to cross lines to get back at him. We need someone to clear these or let us know they are a legit avenue to investigate."
"All right. Hansen and Bettis just cleared their last case. I'll give this to them. You'll need to bring them up to speed. Where are you at with the investigation?"
"We're working our way through his last day. The meetings..." He glanced at Kallie.
"I'm working that now. The first meeting in the morning was a meeting to review the forecast for the next fiscal year. It lasted three hours and Samuel was in good spirits. One meeting was at the offices of Burroughs & James, Attorneys at Law, in regard to some ritzy apartment building Treyson was purchasing. The last meeting of the day wasn't a meeting, exactly. Treyson had a standing date for dinner and drinks with some of his college buds. The attendees varied from month to month depending on who was available. I'm trying to piece together everyone who made an appearance on Wednesday. The gentleman I spoke to indicated he popped in late, and Treyson wasn't there."
Brock was hearing this for the first time, but that was only because he'd been buried going through emails. "What time was that?"
"7:45 p.m."
"What time did the get together start?"
"6:00 p.m."
"Which was before Treyson called Chloe."
"He called her at 6:30."
"Right, so sometime between his closing on the building and before or during his get together with friends, he calls Chloe to cancel and heads to the warehouse."
"Right." Kallie nodded.
"Where was this get together?" Brock crossed his arms over his chest and ignored his lieutenant as he spoke.
"The Waterfall. You're thinking of their surveillance system?"
"That, and if they are regulars, what with this being a standing arrangement, the staff will know who they are. It will speed up the discovery portion as to who was there." He nodded, working off her enthusiasm, even though it had already been a long-ass day.
"Are we going to need a warrant?"
"Not if we use the right words."
Kallie narrowed her eyes at him. "Words like... media attention?"
He nodded. "That's right."
"Damn, if Jordan wasn't coming back, I'd partner you two permanently." Davidson snarked before he pointed to the door. "Go, I'll give Hansen and Bettis an overview and get them started. Find me that killer."
Brock gave his lieutenant a two-finger salute and followed Kallie out of the office. At last, something to work.
The trip to the Waterfall, an exclusive bar and restaurant in Briar Hill took about an hour longer than it should have due to an overturned semi, construction and detours. Fucking progress was anything but progressive. He slammed the car door and shivered as the night wind cut through his clothes and attacked his skin. They hurried to the front door where they were promptly stopped.
"I'm sorry, but there is a dress code. Tie and jacket for the gentlemen, cocktail dresses or business attire for the ladies." A dour faced man blocked their way into the main area of the establishment.
Brock presented his badge. "This is my tie and coat."
"Here's my little black dress." Kallie flipped her creds open at almost the same time.
"With all due respect officers, could I please ask you to go around the back? I'll inform management you're waiting."
"Ah, no Jeeves, that doesn't work for me. Call your manager up here for me."
"Sir, I must insist."
Kallie swiveled and looked up at him. "Can I arrest him for obstruction? I haven't arrested anyone today."
"Obstruction?" The man's jowls wiggled.
"Yeah, of a murder investigation."
"Murder?" That one sent his jowls into flight.
"Or we can just tell the press that the management of the Waterfall refused to cooperate with police." Kallie was having fun.
Brock crossed his arms and added, "Sebastian Treyson will be extremely upset."
"Please, there is no need for any of that. I'll call my manager right away." The man opened the inner doors.
Three minutes later they were shown into a state-of-the-art surveillance room by a harried, middle-aged man with a pot belly. He seemed intent on keeping them away from his establishment and clientele and almost shoved them into the security room. A skinny man-child with a mop of brown hair and black plastic-framed glasses too large for his face stood to greet them. He pushed his glasses up and pointed to the monitor on the far left. "That is from Wednesday night. I queued up the recording starting at 6:00 p.m."
He flashed his badge and gave his full attention to the man at the console. "Detective King, this is Detective Redman. How did you know we were looking for that information?"
"I'm Cory Sullivan. I hear and see everything in this place. You’re investigating a murder, although you didn't say whose. You told management you wanted to see the tapes for last Wednesday night."
Kallie chuckled. "You hear everything?"
"Hear and see. Some shit these rich people do... bleach couldn't wipe it from my brain." Cory chuckled and handed him a remote. "Hit play with this." He indicated the button. "Stop is here and the date and time stamps are in the lowe
r right-hand corner. Do you need me to leave?"
"No, actually stay, if you would." Brock handed the remote to Kallie. "Have you been working here long?"
"My old man owns the place. I handle all the security feeds. Most of the time it's quiet. I study and get paid. Every now and then the bar starts hopping. The back rooms are...interesting."
"Back rooms?" Kallie paused the feed.
"Yep. The more affluent clientele pay for private rooms in the back. There have been some raunchy parties back there. Consensual, and usually with professional ladies who come in through the back, but yeah, the rich are just as fucked up as the rest of us."
"Is this feed going to show us the back rooms?"
"Nope. It would help if I knew who you were looking for." The kid pushed his glasses up his nose again.
"Samuel Treyson."
"Ah, that would be the Ivory Room." The kid sat down and started typing on a keyboard. "They meet once a month. Nothing wild there. Just a bunch of friends getting together and swapping war stories. Well, financial conquests would be more their style." He pointed to another screen. "There you go."
He stared at the kid. "Does your clientele know you monitor them?"
The young man shrugged. "We post the proper surveillance notifications. We aren't breaking any laws." Cory crossed his arms over his chest. "We don't record the sound, just the video. I have audio wired into this office so I can have people respond quickly if necessary."
Kallie pushed play on the feed. "You can fast forward if you want." The guy leaned over and pointed to the correct button. Kallie hit it and the men in the room scurried around like ants. She hit play again as soon as Samuel Treyson walked into the room. "Sucks that he got himself killed. That guy was a class act." Cory watched the video with them. It seemed as if Treyson was well liked.
"Freeze that for a minute, would you? Who are the rest of the men in the room?" Brock motioned to the screen.
"Well, that is Richard Emerson, that guy with the grey scarf, he's Skip Chastain. I think the one there is Pierce Willington, but it might be his twin brother Preston. I don't know who that man is… wait, that one over there that's Clive Hollingsworth." Kallie started the feed again and the man continued to list off names as men entered and exited the room.
A Hope City Duet Page 12