by Rusty Ellis
“I’ll get Mike,” Hatch sprinted to the stairs and cleared them with a leap.
“Seriously,” Leesa stood in amazement.
“It might not be from his vehicle, but it could be. The flakes look like they would have blown away with a good wind last night.”
Leesa and Gonzalez continued to stare at the spot, as if it were going to somehow disappear if they looked away. Mike showed up with an evidence bag and a pair of tweezers.
“Heard you found something.”
“Right there,” Ransom guided him.
Mike stepped forward while Ransom continued to hold the light on the spot. Mike popped open the bag and placed the lip under the bent metal. With his other hand, he took the tweezers and carefully scraped the little chips into the bag. Satisfied he’d gotten them all, he pulled the plastic strip off the taped end of the bag and sealed it shut. Flipping Hatch around, Mike put the bag against his back and pulled out a ballpoint pen, “Inside Garage Door - Paint Chips.”
“Can you do something with those?” Hatch asked over his shoulder.
“We can run the color and find out which auto maker uses that specific paint. Unless, of course, it’s been repainted.”
Mike held up the evidence bag against the ceiling light in the garage, studying the chips now separated at the bottom of the bag.
“I’ll let you know,” Mike added and headed back into the house.
Gonzalez tapped Hatch on the left bicep, “We need to go sift through all the paperwork we gathered.”
“Mike’s got the couple’s phones, though I may reach out to a guy I know at the FBI and see if he can take a look at them,” Leesa offered. “He works on a counterintelligence unit there and has done a lot of electronic work on a task force with us. Can we all meet up early to compare notes and see what you guys find?” Leesa looked toward Gonzalez and Hatch. “Ransom?”
“Sounds good,” Ransom answered. Turning to Gonzalez he added, “Could you guys have someone check and see if the two officers ever worked together or were ever on any details together? That may tell us something.”
“You bet. Lets’ meet up at Northwest Area Command at 0700?” Gonzalez posed.
“That works,” Ransom answered and the rest agreed.
Ransom leaned on his cane as he walked out of the residence. The crowd had grown…now to include reporters. Ransom let Gonzalez and Hatch draw the tide of cameras and microphones in their direction before braving the distance to his truck. The crowd drifted like magnets toward them while the two detectives began knocking on neighbors’ doors.
Seeing Ransom getting in his truck, the officer guarding the area near the orange cones instructed the crowd to move back while picking up a cone to clear an exit path.
Ransom made a three-point turn and looked to see Gonzalez and Hatch pulling the swarm to the left, making his right turn that much easier. Ransom looked one more time toward the drowning detectives and laughed. Pressing the gas, he turned back to the right and was surprised by a person standing in the middle of the road. Ransom slammed on his brakes and his seatbelt nearly choked him. Looking up, he could see Teresa Daniels standing in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips, no more than three feet from his front bumper.
“Teresa! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!?” Ransom yelled at the windshield.
Teresa responded back, but Ransom couldn’t hear her. Rolling down his window, Teresa repeated, “You didn’t call me!”
Teresa walked around to the passenger side door and yanked it open.
“I won’t ever be able to call you if you turn into an ornament on my grill!” Ransom’s heart was still beating furiously from the near accident.
“You know what?” Teresa scowled.
“What?”
“I’d look really good as a hood ornament,” her scowl broke into a contagious smile.
Shaking his head, Ransom grinned back and conceded, “Yes you would.”
Teresa climbed into the passenger seat of his truck and put on her seatbelt. Ransom watched as she reached over and changed the station on his stereo from country to an 80s station. With his foot still pressed firmly on the brake, Ransom just watched her. Had anyone else pulled this move he would have kindly, but firmly, booted them out of his truck and to the sidewalk. Not Teresa. He couldn’t picture getting mad at her. Except maybe for that time he almost ran her over a minute ago, but he was already over that and staring at her smile.
“So, where are you taking me to eat?” she raised her eyebrows in wonder.
“What about your car?”
“I rode in the station’s van.”
Ransom knew he was going to lose this battle. In fact, he didn’t want to battle. Maddie had been on him about dating and entering the “Living World” as she put it. Ever since his divorce from Maddie’s mom, he was careful to look out for Maddie and not trample her emotions. She was a pretty tough girl, but she had her limitations and sometimes didn’t know how to vent it before it really tore her up. Now out of high school and working toward her career, she had gone from questioning him about dating, to hinting about dating, to outright trying to set him up at times. All three stages were unsuccessful. Plus, the comfort of his life, work, and time with Maddie had been enough to fill the void. Now, having less time with Maddie and being retired, he considered putting his toes over the edge and taking a chance at a simple dinner date. And Teresa was the one best fitting the shoes of the date he imagined.
“Italian or Mexican?” Ransom hit the ball into her court.
Teresa’s smile grew and sent a warm spark thru Ransom’s chest.
“Mexican!” she cheerfully answered.
“Mexican it is,” Ransom’s right foot transferred from the brake to the gas pedal.
The old truck’s engine hummed as Teresa tapped on the dashboard to the rhythm of Prince and the Revolution singing Purple Rain.
16
Deciding to stay close to home, Ransom and Teresa stopped at Roberto’s Taco Shop on West Lake Mead Boulevard. Had Ransom asked Maddie where to go for good Mexican food, she’d have said Roberto’s. Something about their tacos and “extra fixin’s” at their side-bar was always a winner.
As soon as Ransom walked into the restaurant the cashier yelled his name. Ransom got a guilty look on his face, as if busted for being a regular.
“Come here often?” Teresa laughed.
“Hardly ever,” Ransom threw up his hands as an innocent gestured.
The cook noticed Ransom at the counter and waved at him with his spatula.
“Okay, maybe a few times,” he admitted.
Ransom and Teresa ordered their tacos and drinks and sat down to wait for their order to be cooked.
“So tell me, Mr. I’m Retired, why are you at two different crime scenes lately?” Teresa asked and leaned forward with her elbows on the table.
Ransom shrugged, “Just passing by and thought I’d say hi to some of my old friends.”
Teresa rolled her eyes and continued her questioning, “So why did they call you in on these? I assume it’s because you have a personal interest in the case.”
“A personal interest? Not sure what you mean.”
“You know, Detective Poulson’s daughter and her family on I-15.”
The air lost its playful banter as Ransom was reminded of Gabe and Kathryn’s loss just two days ago.
Was that only two days ago?
The discovery of a second set of victims had forced a little distance in time continuum of Ransom’s mind. But the truth was, in the course of the past two days, seven bodies had been found. Four adults and three children. Two of the adults Metro officers. Killed in their homes. Transported to another location. And staged to resemble light-hearted family outings.
Ransom’s mind wrestled with the facts, turning the pieces over and over in every direction, looking for a logical fit, setting aside pieces that didn’t make any sense at the time. Seeing the faces in the car at I-15; the faces at the ice cream shop.
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br /> “Hello? You in there?” Teresa waved her hand in front of Ransom’s face to get his attention.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Ransom, your order’s ready,” the cashier yelled.
Saved by the food, Ransom walked over to the counter and grabbed the orange tray with the hot tacos.
“Want anything, jalapeños or peppers?” he pointed at the small salad bar.
“Some jalapeños would be great.”
Ransom filled two little cups with chopped jalapeños and returned to the table with the food. Teresa reached for a taco and used her fingers to drop a couple jalapeños on top.
“So, where were we?” she asked and turned her head sideways to take a crunching bite.
With Teresa’s mouth full of taco, Ransom hurried to switch directions, “You were going to tell me about that ring on your finger.”
He quickly grabbed some jalapeños as well and bit into his taco, an excuse to let his question settle in without having to speak too quickly. Watching her face, he saw a small grin as she grabbed a napkin to rescue herself from any leftover taco on her face.
Holding one finger up, she chewed a few seconds longer then answered, “You mean, why am I wearing a wedding ring? Or why did I tell you to ask me out if I’m already wearing a wedding ring?”
Ransom finished his first bite and reached for his cup, “Either one will do.”
Teresa abandoned the taco back onto the yellow wrapper on the tray and took a drink from the straw in her cup.
“I’m divorced. About a year and a half ago,” she responded. Before Ransom could lob his next question, she continued, “The ring is kind of like, uh, like kryptonite.”
“Kryptonite?” Ransom cocked his head to the side, placing his cup and taco back down for the ensuing story.
Teresa was pleased with his obvious interest in her analogy, “I wear it to keep away the guys that think they’re some kind of superhero. It’s basically an easy out if someone hits on me.”
Teresa shrugged and returned to her taco. Ransom couldn’t help but laugh out loud to her explanation. It made sense though. She was an extremely attractive woman. Getting hit on was probably a natural hazard of her profession. Every time she was out working, she had to look her best on camera. Which meant she always looked good, on and off camera.
“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” she mentioned between bites.
“Nah. It’s just me and my daughter. Her mother and I divorced about eight years ago. We split custody and time with her. When she graduated from high school, she moved in with me permanently. It’s been me and her against the world since then,” Ransom smiled at the thought of his daughter and their relationship.
“I love a good success story,” Teresa offered. Seeing Ransom raise an eyebrow she added, “Really. I’m not teasing about that. It sounds like you’ve done a good job with her. A good enough job that your relationship sounds pretty solid.”
“Let’s just say she’s done a pretty good job raising me. We’ve learned a lot together. She’s not afraid to call me out when I’m blowing smoke.”
Teresa was enjoying hearing a little about Ransom. After all the years reporting on events in the Las Vegas valley, and running into Ransom on a fairly regular basis, she was never privy to this side of him while he was on the job.
“So any kids?” Ransom was finishing any evidence of tacos in front of him.
“No. I guess you could say that was the final downfall between Eric and me. That and ‘billable hours’,” she punctuated the latter with quotation marks in the air. “There was always a case or client that took precedence over me and us.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“His loss, don’t you think?” Teresa forced another smile from Ransom.
He gave into a smile and nodded his head. Something about her spicy attitude and occasional spark of blunt truth was refreshing. She had a fire in her, beyond the expected fire of a tenacious reporter. He had always appreciated the fairness she represented and had never burned him on a case with fictitious reporting or assuming facts. In return, he was always willing to provide her with the information tagged for disclosure sometimes ahead of the rest of the news crowd.
“I hate to switch the mood, but why did you come back out of retirement?” Teresa slid the empty tray to the side and crossed her arms on the table.
“Do I even need to say that this is off the record?” Ransom hedged his next comments.
Teresa just gave him a blank stare. The answer given.
“You know Detective Gardner, right? Leesa?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she was my last partner when I retired,” Ransom began putting the puzzle into place. “Leesa was partnered with Detective Gabe Poulson after I left. When everything happened down on I-15 with Gabe’s daughter and her family, Leesa reached out to me. Not just because she was my old partner, but because I know Gabe and his family. The homicide detective family is pretty tight. We see and deal with things that are even a little too far in the deep end of the pool for most patrol officers to process.”
“The brass doesn’t have a problem with you being involved? Especially Briggs?” Teresa continued working on the puzzle.
“I know my place and where the line’s drawn. I don’t expect any special courtesies and will walk away if they tell me to.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” Teresa shook her head, not buying Ransom’s “good soldier” routine.
“Okay, maybe I’d just take a couple steps to the side,” Ransom watched as she gave him the blank stare again. “Okay, okay, one step. I’d take one step to the side.”
Teresa was able to see through Ransom’s bravado. Ransom’s concern for his former partner and Gabe’s family was carefully shielded from the outside world. He was used to numbing his emotions for the sake of getting the job done. Emotion had its place. Its place was at home, in private. After the job was done. After the questions were asked. After the arrests were made and the possible testifying was done.
“Two officers died in separate incidents,” Teresa persisted. “There has to be a connection there somewhere.”
Ransom returned to detective mode, “We’re still working those angles, seeing how or if the pieces fit together.”
“Seems like two events like this have an obvious commonality. Add the officers to the variables and it’s hard to deny they’re connected.”
She was right. They were connected. Not to mention the gas line. That was the proverbial rope holding the two cases together. The sickening thought was wondering if the killer was done. Was there more to come? How quickly could they surface the information they needed to stop another officer and their family from losing their lives? Ransom began feeling the anxious tugs on his chest so prevalent when he was on the job. The mental demands of homicide took a toll on his physical being as well. The two together had a way of prematurely aging the mind and body.
“So you’re going to clue me in if you find anything? Anything that you can share, right?” Teresa playfully asked.
“And what if I don’t?” Ransom joined in on the game.
Teresa tapped her right index finger on her lips, as if thinking, “Then you don’t, I guess.” She paused and finished, “But I still want you to take me out again.”
“Deal,” Ransom nodded and locked eyes with her.
Maddie’s not going to believe this.
Part III
Wednesday
17
Ransom woke up at 5 a.m., before his alarm went off for his 7:00 a.m. meeting at the Northwest Area Command. He took a quick shower and threw on a pair of jeans and an untucked, short-sleeved, button-up shirt. Even though he was retired, he didn’t want to rile up the brass by showing up in shorts. The last thing you want to do is poke a porcupine with a stick. He’d done enough of that back on duty. Sometimes it was worth letting off steam, other times it just caused friction for him and the other detectives. Ransom intended on playing nice in his
role as a retired guest.
Heading back to the sofa in the living room, he stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water. His leg ached from spending too much time upright on it yesterday. There was no one spot he could pinpoint the pain. The ache seemed to settle through the bone and into the muscle at the front of his lower leg. Grabbing his pill bottles he took two from each and swallowed them with a chug of water. His yellow pad was still on the sofa next to where he sat.
Looking down at his notes, he felt anxious. The answer was somewhere in these connections. The killer knew either the families or one of the people in each family. But how?
Ransom began writing down the usual, possible places the victims and killer could have met or known each other:
Childcare.
Church.
Grocery store.
Gym.
Club.
Organization.
Bank.
School.
What if the killer was another officer.
On duty. Metro officer.
The last thought was hard to write down, but had to be added. They needed to cast a wide net at first and eliminate the connections, not just assume it couldn’t be possible. He had dealt with the warped side of humanity. He best described it to a friend as, “You live on top of the carpet. Enjoying your day, occasionally vacuuming the few remnants of dirt and spills. If you pull back the carpet, that’s where we work. We work with what gets through the carpet and you don’t have to think about.”
Was there a connection between the two officers? If not, was Lee and his family targeted first for a reason? Why Ford’s family? Convenience?
Setting the pad back down at his side. Ransom closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Working on the possibilities and letting himself free-think through the staged scenes and the crime scenes. After a few minutes he looked down at his watch and saw it was 6:30 a.m. It was about 15 minutes to the station and he wanted to catch Leesa outside.