Exacting Justice

by TG Wolff

  Today reminded me of the first soul. I was called to that street and so was the drug dealer. After I collected the soul, I saw a young girl hiding behind a tree. She was beautiful, innocent and would stay that way.

  If I die tomorrow, I am happy knowing her life went on because I existed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday, May 17

  Cruz spent his second cup of coffee focusing on details. The medical examiner’s findings. The lab reports. The crime scene reports and preliminaries. He read a hotline tip, thought it sounded familiar, then cursed viscously when he realized he’d read half the reports twice and the other half not at all.

  He couldn’t concentrate. Aurora. She stayed the night and let him make love to her, but it was different. She was sweet and clingy, not at all the demanding lover he knew. It felt like she was silently saying goodbye. She fell asleep in his arms, his leg over hers in case there was any doubt what he wanted. But this morning, he woke alone.

  Yablonski crossed the room, going to the desk he’d wedged next to Cruz’s. “How goes it?”

  “None of this shit is worth anything.” He shoved the tip-line pages, putting a quarter of them in flight. “Not when you’re looking for one person in a half million.”

  Yablonski sat at his desk, leaving the pages where they landed. “What do you want to do?”

  Wasn’t that the question. “I am so sick of playing defense. I want to get back to building the profile list from drug-related murders. The first list washed out, but I stopped at August. Let’s get help to finish culling through the files.”

  “On it. The turf war for territory is heating up. There was a shooting last night between two lieutenants. A little girl saw it, recognized one of the men. We found a blood trail. It ended in the middle of a street.”

  Yablonski didn’t have to say it. The clock was ticking again, this time for a man named Michael “Jonesy” Jones. He hadn’t shown up at any emergency room. His brother and his girlfriend were talking to the cops. Yeah, they knew the score.

  By the end of the day, Cruz knew everything there was about Jonesy except where he was and if he was alive. The dead ends left him feeling like a blind rat in a maze—lost, frustrated, and forever away from the end.

  He knocked on Montoya’s open door. “I’m going to take a ride over to Pastor Mike’s rally. I want to survey the crowd. The suspect might show just to admire his work.”

  “Good idea. Keep me updated. The chief is threatening to hand it all over to Special Agent Bishop and the fucking bureau of investigation.” Montoya’s face was calm, but his eyes glinted with hellfire. “This case stays with this department. Start making things happen, Cruz. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir.” He texted Yablonski his plan and then headed to the parking garage. Five o’clock flight was in full swing, so he sat as the eight-to-fivers caravanned out.

  In that small, quiet space, Aurora invaded. He couldn’t call or text her during the school day because she turned her phone off. It hadn’t been the school day for a few hours, but he hadn’t called. He couldn’t remember a time in his adult life when he felt so afraid to call a woman. It was a toss-up which scared him more, her answering or not. It was a lose-lose situation. Pressing the button, he said a little prayer, promising he’d do all kinds of good deeds if only…

  “Hey, Zeus.”

  Relief flooded through him, and he shook a fist in victory. “Hey, beautiful. Where are you?”

  “At your house.” Her upbeat voice put him at ease. She was past it, whatever it was. “I stopped at the grocery store and started dinner. It will be ready by six.”

  Shit. He closed his eyes, hating what he was about to say. “I don’t think I’ll make it by then. There’s this march in the city I need to be at.”

  “Can’t someone else do it?” Her tone changed to one of disappointment. “Just this once?”

  “This is important.” He waited for her to respond. To yell, to swear. Something. When she didn’t, he pressed her. “Aurora?”

  “I understand.” She killed the line.

  “Fuck.” He wanted to call her back, but what was there to say? You knew I was a cop when you asked me out. This is what cops do.

  If he called and said that, she’d be gone when he did get home.

  If he didn’t call back, would she be there?

  He gripped the steering wheel hard; his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t be in two places at once, and he made a commitment. In that moment, he hated the suspect like he never hated before. If he lost Aurora because of this case, the man would learn about hell and fury.

  He started the car, threw it in gear, then pushed into the line. Every dumbass driver who didn’t know where they were going or weren’t in a hurry to get there was in front of him. Fifteen in a twenty-five. No Clevelander drove that slow. He flipped on his lights to scare the hell out of a guy paying more attention to yelling at the woman next to him than the road. And what dumbass programmed these traffic lights? He couldn’t drive more than two blocks without stopping for the nobody coming out of the cross street.

  Finally, he reached the burned-out patch of earth Ashford hand-picked as his launch point. It was at the corner of St. Clair and Armageddon.

  “What the hell are you thinking, Mike?”

  People trickled in, and there was the man personally greeting each one. He handed out candles, kissed babies, petted dogs. Sitting in his car on a side street, with a clear view of the corner, Cruz measured each person. Half were fat, another quarter too young or too old.

  He’d be a loner most likely. Someone who lived on the edges. The crowd grew as daylight dimmed. He needed to get out there, mingle close up. A knock on his passenger window made him jump. He unlocked the door.

  Yablonski’s expression transformed from game face to smart ass. “Jumpy, Detective?”

  Cruz cleared off the passenger seat so Yablonski could sit. “There’s too damn many.” He looked out over the steering wheel, then punched the dashboard.

  “Easy, Cruzie. We’ll get him. It’s just a matter of time”

  “Time, I don’t have,” he snapped.

  Yablonski narrowed those sharp eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. I’m talking about nothing.”

  “You might as well tell me. I’m just going to pester you until you do.”

  Cruz turned in his seat. “Do you know how much you sound like a woman?”

  “Ah. What did you do?”

  “I thought it was because I screwed up on your engagement party. I should have called her, you know? She should yell and scream, swear at me. Hell, throwing something would be better than her crying and telling me she has stuff to work through.”

  “Go home. I’ll cover things here and call you if anything happens.”

  He shook his head. As much as he wanted to go, his duty was here.

  Yablonski punched him in the arm. Hard. “Go. She matters.”

  He looked between the swelling crowd and his friend. “The suspect is likely to be a loner. Quiet. Unassuming. Someone easy to approach. He thinks he’s on a mission to protect the city. You could use that in a conversation to draw him out. Call for backup to apprehend.”

  Yablonski snorted. “Told you before, not my first rodeo.”

  Cruz took a fist full of shirt and yanked. “He’s killed eight men. Eight strong, healthy, violent men. Do not underestimate him.”

  “I got it, Cruz. I’ll call you if I get any nibbles. Okay?”

  Satisfied, he let him go. “Okay. And thanks, man.”

  Aurora’s car was in the driveway, and the lights were on in the attic space she used as a studio. His temper still ran hot. He couldn’t live like this. They were going to talk this out whether she wanted to or not.

  He walked in his side door. He expected blues or jazz or R&B to greet him. Instead, it was shouting.

  “You’re so stupid!”

  Aurora was screaming, but at who? She never spoke to anyone that
way. He crept up the stairs, the hair on the back of his neck on end.

  Training had him reaching for his gun, but he stopped. This was his house. His girlfriend. Silently, he rounded the small landing. He saw her now. She faced a painting she had been working on. It was family picnic.

  The nearly finished work now had violent splashes of a vivid blue across it.

  “I hate when you do this!” She lashed out at the canvas and the small woman with cork screw curls.

  “Aurora?”

  She jumped back, startled at the sound of his voice, spun to face him, and then quickly turned away. “What are you doing here?” She’d been crying again.

  “What are you doing?” he repeated back softly.

  “P-painting.” She cleaned her brushes, carefully ignoring his gaze. “You hungry? Dinner didn’t work out—nothing new—but there’s more of your leftovers.”

  “What is this,” Cruz asked, pointing to the canvas. “Why were you yelling?”

  Aurora wouldn’t look at him. She tried to close the paints but ended up dropping more lids than she placed. “I, uh, had the radio on.”

  Cruz stepped into her way, his temper curling beneath his skin. “How dumb do you think I am?”

  “I was just painting,” she said, her voice hoarse from yelling. “Let it go.”

  “I won’t let it go. What the hell has been going on with you these last few days? Is it my job? Because you knew I was a cop when you asked me out.” He stalked toward her, forcing her backwards. “I’m not going to be a man at your beck and call.” She flinched as if he’d hit her. “Damn it. Don’t you act like you’re afraid of me, like I’d ever hurt you.”

  She was crying now. It broke his heart and pissed him off in equal measures. She retreated, backing away until she hit the wall, then sank into a ball.

  “Stop that,” he said, then took a breath. “Come on. Get up.”

  “Leave me alone.” She rocked herself.

  His mind grasped at straws. Maybe she was ill, like having a mental break down. Maybe he should call nine-one-one.

  His phone rang before he could dial. Yablonski. “We found Michael Jones. It’s all hands-on deck.”

  He squeezed the cell phone, trying to smash it to a million pieces. How was he supposed to handle all this?

  He picked her resisting body off the floor and carried her to their bed, where he tucked her under the warm comforter. “I’m sorry if you don’t understand this, but I made a commitment. This is what got me through some very bad times. It’s the reason I didn’t give up. I don’t know what’s wrong, but we can work our way through it. Just wait for me. I’ll be back.”

  He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t respond, he only hoped she heard and that she stayed.

  The little park on Doan Brook featured a water fountain, a playground, a pavilion, and ten of Cleveland’s finest with their lights on. Three ambulances were on the scene, tending to people sitting about. The area had been roped off, and a tent erected to separate the scene from the curious. Uniformed officers were speaking to the crowd, taking names and eyewitness accounts. He found Ashford in the pavilion, talking quietly with a woman who was shaken by the events.

  When she stepped away, Cruz stepped forward. “How are you?”

  “Disturbed. On so many levels.” Pastor Mike took a deep breath, looking around at those being treated by the EMTs. “In my wildest imagination, I never…I am so sorry.”

  “You didn’t do this, Pastor Mike.”

  “No, but if I hadn’t—”

  Cruz cut him off. “It would have been somewhere else. Some other time.” His phone chimed. A text from Aurora.

  Sorry. Going to my parents. A

  He texted back quickly. Wait for me. Please

  “Cruz. We need you here.”

  Friday, May 18

  “How could it be Friday morning?” Cruz rolled to the empty space next to him. The pillow smelled like her. He buried his face in it, homesick in his own house. He got up, dressed and left. He didn’t shower. He didn’t read his meditation. He just got the hell out.

  He carried his gas station coffee into the early morning meeting with the chief. “The damage to the victim’s head appears consistent with being struck by a vehicle. The suspect planned this disposal carefully. The head was mounted on a post, but a coat hung from a hanger and a hat was on the head, given the illusion, especially from a distance, of someone leaning against a tree. Two teens stumbled across the victim and started a stampede.”

  Ramsey leaned forward in his chair, taking every word in. “Do you have an opinion on whether this particular incident is one of opportunity?”

  “The kill likely was opportunity as I strongly doubt he could have planned to have the victim walking down the middle of a road for him. The posting was planned. We are confirming the ID but suspect it to be Michael Jones.”

  “There is a growing sympathy for the suspect. Almost a respect.”

  “It’s sickening,” Montoya said. “I liked your proposal. Is everything set up?”

  The idea had hit him at two in the morning. He’d pitched it to Montoya first thing. “Kroc is coming in this afternoon. He’ll be on board.”

  “Good,” Ramsey said. “We finally might make some progress.”

  The reproach was a sharp stab to the ego. He was working his ass off, how did nobody see that? God, his head hurt. In two short days, he’d gone blind, deaf and dumb, making him useless on a case like this. He wasn’t having that. This was his case, his responsibility. If he didn’t get his act together the commander or the chief would be taking it from him and that, straight up, was not happening.

  He left the department, walking past the chatter and call-outs like a man on a mission. Minutes later, he stalked up the sidewalk of Fullerton Elementary School determined to have it out here and now. The secretary buzzed him in. She smiled, started with the small talk.

  “I need to speak with Aurora. Now.”

  Her mouth fell into a perfect O. “She’s teaching, Detective. Is this an emergency?”

  “Yes.” For him it was.

  The secretary went down the hall. Moments later, Aurora hurried into the office.

  “What are you doing here? Did something happen?” Her voice was low, full of concern for someone. Her concern should have been for them.

  His feet wide, arms crossed over his chest, he lowered his gaze to hers. “We’re getting this out in the open.”

  “Keep your voice down. Here,” she said, poking her head in the dark office of the vice principal and led him in. “You can’t just come in here—”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  She closed the door, keeping her back to him. “Zeus, please, lower your voice.”

  “You want me to lower my voice, you tell me what is going on. Why are you leaving our home? Why are you destroying your paintings?” He prowled the small office. “Is it another guy? Are you seeing someone else? Are you pregnant?”

  “No, no and God no.”

  That was good. But not good enough. “I’m tired of this guessing game. Just fucking tell me.”

  “You can’t use that word here. The children.”

  He spun around and kicked the desk; the sound carried the rage of thunder. “How am I supposed to catch a serial killer when I can’t figure out what is going on in my own house?” He kicked it again.

  Aurora caught his arm, trying to pull him away. “Zeus. Stop. Please.”

  Days’ worth of exhaustion and frustration boiled over. He yanked his arm away from her and pounded his fists on the desk. “Why can’t you talk to me? What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything. I did. I did.”

  “I can’t take it. I can’t—”

  “I found the ring!”

  He turned, stunned. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hand covered her mouth. He replayed what he heard. It was in English, but it didn’t help him understand what she meant. “What ring?”

  “Erin’s ring.” A tear ran d
own her cheek. “It fell out of your pocket when I picked up your coat.”

  You didn’t need to be a detective to know what happened from there. “Oh, baby. I’m so sor—”

  “Don’t say it.” She cut him off, pressing her fingers to his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was me. All me. I wasn’t snooping. I didn’t even recognize what the box was. And then I opened it. It was so pretty, sparkling just for me.” She turned away, her head hanging low. “I was…ridiculous. I daydreamed about how you would ask me. Dreaming up funny responses to watch you sweat.” She laughed more than a little hysterically. “I practiced writing Aurora De La Cruz a hundred times during lunch. When you told me it was Erin’s, I was so disappointed. So embarrassed. Ashamed. Jealous.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Aurora.”

  She stepped away from him. “I know I should get over it. I mean, we’ve only known each other a few months. I was trying to get over it. I was wrong to be jealous. It was silly of me to think you would ever ask me to marry you. I was acting stupid and I hated it. Then you walked in. I was a hundred times more humiliated. A hundred times more embarrassed. I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die.”

  He pulled her to him, cuddling her to his chest. “I didn’t know you wanted to get married.”

  “Neither did I.” Her arms snaked around his waist. “I don’t know how to get past this. I need some time. Some distance, maybe.”

  “That’s not the answer, this is. Talking. Trusting in each other. I am sorry you were hurt. I should have told you about the ring.”

  “No, Zeus.” Aurora tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “You did nothing wrong. It was all me. God, I’m such a mess. It’s a good thing you did forget about me. Can you imagine how badly I would have reacted watching Erin open the box?”

  He flinched, pained that for even a moment, she would think his forgetting her could be good. Talking herself into believing he would be better off without her. “You can’t leave me, Aurora. Tell me you’re staying.”