Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  “He was also shot in the forehead, probably at point-blank range.”

  Malone felt a surge of anger. In all likelihood, he had suffered right up until he took his last breath. “His firearm isn’t on him, though. It’s not in his holster.”

  “It’s on the desk, along with a brown duffle bag. But there’s nothing in the bag.”

  Malone thought for a moment. “Do you think it belonged to him?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, he must have brought something here. Something that got him killed.”

  Henderson nodded. “That’s right. Come with me. You’ve got to see this.”

  Malone and Peterson followed Henderson through the room. They passed by a group of uniformed police officers, all their faces long, obviously upset at losing one of their own. The detectives walked through a glass door, into a large room. It was more like a laboratory, with bright lights running across the ceiling and a long stainless steel countertop. It was filled with hand tools, computer tools, and electronic equipment. Crime scene investigators were rushing around the room, dusting for fingerprints, taking photographs, and bagging evidence.

  “This is impressive,” Henderson said. “There’s a lot of high-tech equipment in here.”

  “What do you make of it?” Malone asked, looking at all the tools.

  “This was a sophisticated operation.” Henderson gestured around the room. “I think there were at least four people were working here.”

  Malone was silent for a moment. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Well, there are several piles of black ash. I think its residue from burnt, scorched metal.”

  “Do you think they were trying to fix something?”

  “We’ve bagged four burnt read/write heads, actuator arms, and circuit boards.”

  A light bulb went off in Malone’s head. He knew Black Capital Investments was involved in Jones’ murder. “So, they were rebuilding computer hard drives?”

  Henderson nodded. “This place has everything you need to recover lost data.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Malone and Peterson left the room. They walked past the corpse, through the curtain archway, and out the glass door. Outside, several uniformed police officers were still directing people away from the crime scene. The blue and white Medical Examiner’s van raced into the parking lot, tires screeching as it braked twenty feet away.

  Chapter 43

  Malone and Peterson walked into the Miami Police Department, anxious to find out what happened to the four hard drives confiscated from Tucker & Sutton Associates. Nodding at fellow police officers and detectives, they walked to the end of the hallway and rounded the bend. Halfway down the corridor, they turned into the property and evidence room. Sitting behind the desk, Maggie Towers, the Property and Evidence Technician, was going through a thick stack of papers and entering data into her computer. Startled, she looked up at the detectives. There was a growing sense of unrest on her face.

  “We have bad news,” Malone said. “There’s no easy way to tell you this.”

  Maggie blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “We just came from the Development Partners of Miami Beach.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  Malone could see her hands were shaking. It was obvious she knew more than she was letting on. “We don’t believe you. So, you’d better think twice before saying anything else.”

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

  “Officer Jones was shot to death. Single gunshot wound to the head, point-blank range.”

  Maggie looked horrified. “Oh, that’s terrible.”

  “It looks like someone took a baseball bat to him, too.”

  “I …I can’t believe it.” Maggie’s hand flew to her face. “That’s awful.”

  “We found a brown duffle bag at the crime scene.”

  Maggie sounded scared. “What was in it?”

  Malone felt a swirl of anger. It wasn’t possible for the hard drives to have left the police evidence room without her knowledge. “Listen, to me, Maggie. It’s time to get honest. Tell us what’s going on here.”

  Maggie’s face turned chalk-white. She looked upset, as if she was about to burst into tears. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Instead of leveling with them, she slipped her cell phone off her belt. Using her thumb, she typed a short text message and sent it to someone. Finally, she looked up at them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You two were friendly, weren’t you?” Malone asked.

  “I never got into an argument with him. I mean, he was always really nice to me.”

  “He brought something to the crime scene with him. Something that got him killed.”

  Maggie pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what it could have been.”

  Malone could tell she wasn’t telling the truth. Tampering with police evidence was a serious offense. “Knock it off, Maggie. Jones came to see you this morning, didn’t he?”

  “I can’t think straight, Sergeant. I mean, I’m so mixed up right now.”

  “You took Jones back into the police evidence room, didn’t you?”

  “I just sent a text message to a coworker, asking her to come replace me.”

  Malone felt his cheeks growing hot. Instead of trying to get to the bottom of things, she was doing her best to avoid the conversation. “I want to see the hard drives right now from Tucker & Sutton Associates.”

  “No, wait until my replacement comes. She’ll be here any second.”

  “You can take us back there right now. Or we’re going straight to the lieutenant’s office.”

  “All right, Sergeant. You win. But you’re going to end up owing me a big, fat apology.”

  Malone and Peterson followed her into the police evidence room. They walked down a long aisle, hoping the four computer hard drives hadn’t been tampered with. On either side of them, sitting on metal shelves, were rows of boxes, bags, and containers. Rounding the corner, they headed down another long row, this one packed with even more police evidence than the last one. Halfway down the aisle, Maggie pointed at a box on the bottom shelf, labeled Tucker & Sutton Associates. She stooped down, removed the orange lid, and handed the box to Malone.

  “Everything is in order,” Maggie said. “Just like I said it was.”

  “I hope it is, for your sake.”

  “I told you nothing is wrong, Sergeant. No one has tampered with these hard drives.”

  Malone wasn’t buying her story. “I haven’t even examined them.”

  “There’s nothing to look at, other than charred, burnt pieces of metal.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Malone picked up one of the hard drives, which was enclosed in a clear plastic bag. Holding it up to the light, he studied it carefully, examining all the markings on it. He couldn’t make out the drive’s serial numbers, as they were burnt to a crisp, just like the originals taken from the crime scene. However, on the top left hand corner of the drive, he was able to make out the manufacturer’s name—Maxtor. Malone knew she was lying through her teeth. According to Dan Henderson, the Crime Scene Unit crew chief, all the hard drives taken from Tucker & Sutton Associates were manufactured by Western Digital.

  “All right, Sergeant. I’m ready to hear that apology.”

  “These aren’t the hard drives from Tucker & Sutton Associates.”

  “Yes, they are. Stop giving me a hard time.”

  “No, they’re not. These hard drives were manufactured by Maxtor, not Western Digital.”

  Maggie looked stunned. “There must be some mistake.”

  Malone forced himself to stay calm. He felt like wringing her neck for lying to him. “You’re calling Dan Henderson, the Crime Scene Unit crew chief, a liar now?”

  “Let’s talk about this later. I feel woozy, light-headed.”

  “Officer Jones is dead. He has a wife and son. Do you want them to be killed, too?”

  Magg
ie’s hands were trembling. “No, I don’t, Sergeant.”

  “It’s over, Maggie. You’re as guilty as sin. Level with us.”

  Maggie looked over her shoulder, as if she was making sure they were alone. She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. “He said he was going to kill him, Sergeant. Don’t you see? I thought I was helping him.”

  “Who’s behind this, Maggie?”

  “Basov told him to get the hard drives.” Tears poured down Maggie’s face. “He told him to get them, or he’d kill him, his wife, and his son.”

  Malone took a moment to process this. “Did he say anything else to you?”

  “No, that’s it, Sergeant. That’s all I know, I swear.”

  Malone and Peterson left the property and evidence room. They moved down the long corridor, heading for the police lieutenant’s office. When Lieutenant Harper found out that someone with known Russia Mafia connections had murdered one of their fellow police officers, he would have to take bold action. Malone suspected the lieutenant would ratchet up the investigation, probably asking the FBI to get involved in the case.

  Chapter 44

  Peterson sat on the couch, drinking a cup of hot tea. She looked out the large front window, hoping to see headlights coming down the street, but she didn’t see anything. It was past one A.M., and her seventeen year old daughter still hadn’t come home from her date with her boyfriend. Trying to calm her nerves, she took another sip of tea. Fighting a pounding headache, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She rolled her head in circles, trying to loosen the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulders. Startled, she bolted upright. She heard the car door shut, followed by high heels clicking on the walkway. Reeking of cigarettes, her daughter opened the front door and crept inside the dimly lit foyer.

  “Oh, I didn’t expect to see you,” Monica said. “I mean, it’s really late.”

  “I guess not,” Peterson said.

  Monica hung her head. “I’m going straight to bed.”

  “Do you know what time it is, young lady?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Peterson felt concerned. She didn’t want to be too strict on her daughter, but she didn’t want to let her run wild, either. “It’s past one o’clock in the morning. That’s several hours past your curfew.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

  Monica clasped her hands together. “He’s the nicest guy ever. I had the time of my life.”

  Peterson stiffened. She wasn’t thrilled about the situation. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, we went to the drive-in together.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  Monica shook her head. “No, nothing else is going on, I swear.”

  “I’m just concerned about you.”

  “We met a lot of his friends there. Everyone sat behind his big truck, on lawn chairs.”

  “It sounds like you had a good time.”

  Monica dropped down on the couch and sat cross-legged. Having a knack for applying makeup, Peterson thought her daughter looked much older than her age. Her dark mascara made her eyelashes look long and healthy, and her pink lipstick made her lips look soft and full. She pulled a yellow barrette out of her hair, and blonde curls bounced off her shoulders. Clasping her hands in her lap, she took a deep breath and smiled.

  “He gave me a present tonight,” Monica said, showing off the gold ring on her finger.

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  Monica giggled. “It’s a promise ring, Mom. It’s a symbol of how much he loves me.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “He doesn’t want to date anyone else but me.”

  Peterson pressed her lips together. She thought her daughter was being a bit naïve. “You’re rushing things a bit, don’t you think?”

  Monica stiffened. “No, I’m not, Mom. Everything is going fine.”

  “Didn’t he give all his past girlfriends gifts like that?”

  “That doesn’t matter, Mom. He told me he loves me. So, he must really mean it.”

  “I’m not trying to rain on your parade.”

  “Well, it sure sounds like it to me. I think you’re being too over protective.”

  Monica’s cell phone buzzed, letting her know that she had received an incoming text message. Jittering with excitement, she opened her purse and grabbed her phone. She held it close to her chest, as if it was a top secret message. Giggling, she typed a short reply. Using her thumb, she hit the send button and dropped the phone back into her purse. “You’re not going to believe it, Mom. You’re not going to believe what just happened.”

  “I probably won’t.”

  “It’s the best news I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ve been waiting for him to ask me.”

  “What is it?”

  Monica grabbed her mother’s hands. “He just asked me to go to the prom.”

  “I’m speechless.” Peterson was on the fence. She wanted to be happy for her daughter, but she had a bad feeling about it. She suspected her daughter was in over her head.

  “You’re going to help me pick out the perfect dress, aren’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I can’t wait to show him how much I love him.”

  Peterson had read the statistics, that twenty percent of teenage girls lost their virginity on prom night. One out of five girls gave themselves away, mostly in cheap hotels and in the back seats of filthy cars. “How are you going to do that?”

  “Take it easy, Mom. I’m just going to slow dancing with him all night long.”

  “Things have a way of escalating.”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t want me to lose my virginity.”

  “Listen, he may tell you that. But that’s exactly what he wants from you.”

  “Stop making him out to be a creep.”

  “I’m not, honey. I’m just trying to tell you—”

  “I can’t stand it anymore, Mom. I don’t ever want to have this discussion again.”

  Monica got up, grabbed her purse, and stormed out of the room. She bounded up the steps and slammed shut her bedroom door. Sitting on the couch, Peterson stared out the window, hoping her teenage daughter wouldn’t do anything she’d live to regret. Taking a sip of hot tea, she felt a cold chill rush up the back of her spine.

  Chapter 45

  Malone came into the morgue, upset over losing a fellow police officer. Dr. Henry Flood, the County Medical Examiner, was scribbling on a clipboard. He had blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a thick beard. Due to a hunting accident as a teenager, he walked with a slight limp. He was wearing a surgical gown, a white apron, and a shower cap. Below him, on a stainless autopsy table, lay Officer Jones. There was a Y incision on the body, running from his clavicles to his pubis, sewn up in a baseball pattern with coarse white thread. On more than two thirds of the body were dark bruises, mixed with overlapping lacerations and contusions.

  “This guy took one hell of a beating,” Flood said. “He has the wounds to prove it.”

  “That’s too bad,” Malone said.

  Flood scratched his beard. “You can say that again. He suffered a lot before he died.”

  “I’ve got to make someone pay for this.”

  “You’d better be careful. Whoever did this hates cops. That much is for certain.”

  “Let me worry about that, all right?”

  “I’m just looking out for you, you know that.”

  Malone’s heart was racing. No one deserved to get a beating like this. “Even more reason for me to settle the score.”

  Flood looked alarmed. “Just make sure you don’t end up in here, on this table.”

  “Give me the details, will you?”

  “Take a look at the X-rays. You’re not going to like it.”

  Malone glanced over his shoulder. They were pinned to two light boxes on the wall. There were six films, each one spaced the same distance apart from each other. Fl
ood was a meticulous man, prone to being obsessive compulsive over his work. When it came to being thorough, he never left a stone unturned. He was considered to be one of the finest pathologists in the business.

  “Break it down for me,” Malone said. “Let me know what I’m looking at.”

  “He has multiple head injuries—orbital facial bones and skull fractures.”

  Malone looked back at the corpse. “It’s hard to even recognize his face.”

  “That because the killer used his head for batting practice.”

  “That’s one sick, demented person.”

  “You got that right. But the killer was far from finished, though.”

  Malone chewed it over. It seemed Basov or one of his associates was letting the police know just how much they hated dealing with them. “That’s a shame. Let’s hear the rest of it.”

  “The killer hit him with the baseball bat several times.” Anger flashed in Flood’s eyes. “Jones was probably fading in and out of consciousness while it happened.”

  Malone pointed at the corpse. “That explains those dark bruises all over him.”

  “That’s right. He has multiple broken bones—right arm, right leg, and three ribs.”

  “What’s the cause of death?”

  As if this was the most rewarding part of his day, Flood laid his clipboard down on the countertop. Humming, he opened a cabinet drawer. He held up a small glassine bag, containing a distorted slug. “This is it. Here’s the culprit.”

  “That looks like it came from a nine millimeter.”

  Flood nodded. “You got it. One shot to the forehead finally did him in.”

  “It couldn’t have come sooner?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Malone’s breath caught in his throat. Basov or one of his associates wanted to make sure Jones suffered right up until he took his last breath. “No one should have to die like that.”

  “Trust me, Jones welcomed death. In fact, he probably begged for it.”

  “Do you have anything else for me?”

  Flood looked at him with concern. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”