by James Hunt
Cooper sat in the back of an ambulance, one of the paramedics flashing a light in her eye, Cooper’s cheeks covered in a fine layer of dust. She saw Hart speaking to a few of the officers still locking down the perimeter. Once finished he came over. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Cooper pushed the paramedic away, leaving the two of them alone. “How much longer until the FBI shows up?”
“Farnes just called and said they’re already on their way.” Hart raised his eyebrows and looked back at the smoke still rising into the stadium. “You sure you’re feeling all right?”
Cooper pushed herself out from the ambulance and steadied her shaking legs. “How’s the kid?” The first step forward was limped, but after a few more she fell into stride and the pain in her right leg and ankle diminished.
“They finally found his mom. She was at the concession stand when everyone made a run for it.” Hart looked back to the stadium. “I had security check all of the footage before the game started, but they haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.” He handed her the clipboard he’d been carrying. “And that’s everyone that had access to the stadium before the game this week in order to prepare.”
Cooper scrolled down the names, looking at the job titles, then stopped when she found the only name that mattered. “Tell the head of stadium security that we need to speak with Alfonso Rivera.”
“Who’s that?” Hart asked.
“He’s the stadium’s groundskeeper.”
“Why him?”
Sirens spewed a few quick warnings as a new line of black sedans, flashing their blue lights, passed through the secure perimeter and toward the cluster of police vehicles at the stadium’s entrance. Cooper looked back to Hart after the brief interruption and yelled over the sirens. “Because that was the position that Annabel Mitchum’s husband held before he was killed. And I’d like to speak with him before we lose jurisdiction.”
Hart watched one of the blue-jacketed FBI agents step out of the vehicle, an earpiece trailing from his ear, down the side of his neck, and underneath the collar of his shirt. “Right.” He sprinted away, and Cooper intercepted the federal agent.
“Can I help you?” Cooper asked.
“I’m Special Agent Hemsworth.” He looked past Cooper as he spoke, taking in the scene of the thousands still detained within the parking lot. “I need to speak with the person in charge.”
“Detective Cooper. Baltimore PD.”
Even after she extended her hand, Hemsworth ignored her and immediately walked toward the stadium’s entrance. He waved his hand, directing his people to different areas, inside the stadium, in the parking lot, and throughout the ranks of the officers on scene. Only when he was done did he finally turn back to her and look her in the eye. “Detective Cooper, we’ll be leading the investigation moving forward. I’ll need the cooperation of your officers for the next few hours, and then I’ll be heading to your precinct to set up a temporary command post. Who’s your SO?”
“Agent Hemsworth, this wasn’t a terrorist attack—”
“A bomb just detonated inside a baseball stadium where forty thousand spectators were enjoying an afternoon game.” Hemsworth puffed out his chest. “I’d call that a terrorist act.”
“I have evidence that suggests this is one man, a suspected serial killer. He’s been doing this for a long time now, and—”
“Detective, I don’t care what this guy did before today. He could have been a fucking Nobel Prize winner. But with the stunt that he just pulled he’s graduated to a higher calling. And if he’s been doing this for a long time it looks to me that your department isn’t equipped to handle this suspect. Now, who is your superior officer?”
The proximity between the two was less than an inch, and Cooper felt her bones shake with anger, but just before the pressure released, Hart appeared. “Hey, I need to speak to you for a minute.” He smiled at Hemsworth and led Cooper away. “Rivera called out sick this week, but look.” He lifted the clipboard still in Cooper’s hand, pointing to Rivera’s name and signature. “Someone used his name and badge to get inside.”
“Tell security to narrow their search of the stadium’s footage to the times listed on the sign-in sheet. We might be able to get a look at his face.”
“They’re going through them now.”
Cooper saw Agent Hemsworth start to make his way over and kept her voice low. “Listen, I’m going to check out Rivera’s residence, see if there’s anything that I can find. You head back to the precinct and back up all of our files and evidence before the FBI gets there. I’m not losing this case. Go. Hurry.”
Just as Hart left, Hemsworth tapped her on the shoulder. “Detective Cooper, I—”
“Agent Hemsworth, I’ve been called on another case across town.” Cooper retreated back through the crowds. “I’ll radio my precinct and let them know you’re on your way soon. You’ll want to speak with Captain Farnes when you arrive. I’ll leave you to your work.” She disappeared into the crowd before Hemsworth could follow and hurried to the squad car. She retrieved Alfonso Rivera’s address through the DMV database and floored the accelerator.
By the time Cooper arrived at Rivera’s address the evening sun helped diminish some of the decrepit features of the seven-story structure, but with the surrounding neighborhood drenched in poverty, Cooper knew what she was walking into. She stepped out of the cruiser and approached the property carefully. She found the landlady, who led her up the staircase to the sixth floor, where Rivera lived.
“I’m sorry about the stairs,” the landlady said, huffing and puffing as she pushed her way up the steps. “The elevator’s been broken for the past couple months. I’ve been trying to get the county to come and fix it for weeks, but they haven’t gotten back with me yet.”
“This is subsidized housing?” Cooper asked, though with the disintegrating walls around her she should have known better.
“Yes, ma’am. Though I don’t know if you could call this place livable. It’s cheap, but it ain’t no home.” Twice the old woman had to rest to catch her breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t move around like I used to.”
“How long has Mr. Rivera been living here?”
“Oh, about six months.” She smiled. “He came here from Puerto Rico. We get a lot of Puerto Ricans coming up here from the island. Everyone’s pretty hard-pressed for work. He sends most of his money back to his family, though I’m not sure how much he has to give away in the first place.”
Cooper glanced around the inside of the building, and nothing looked up to code. The walls were stained with time, the wood underneath her feet groaned loudly, and with no central air the stale heat in the stairwell pummeled her body until her blouse dripped with sweat. A few of the apartment doors they passed were open, and the residences were in no better condition than the stairwell.
The noises in the staircase varied from the screams of babies to the dull roar of televisions. She heard shouts and arguments, and one of the opened doors she passed was shut in her face once the angered party noticed the badge around Cooper’s neck.
“Here it is,” the landlady said, dangling the keys in her hand. She pounded on the door a few times, but no one answered. “He’s hardly ever home.” Sweat rolled down her forehead. “Do you want to take a look inside?”
“Please.” Cooper wiped her own trickle of sweat running down the bridge of her nose and positioned herself close to the door. Once it was unlocked she had the landlady take a step back. “I’ll need you to stay out here for a moment.” The old woman nodded and rested against the wall as Cooper pulled her pistol and stepped inside.
The front door opened to a long, dark hallway. Cooper palmed the wall for a light switch but found nothing. The floor creaked with every step. “Baltimore Police Department. Anyone home?” Only the quiet and darkness answered as the hallway ended and Cooper entered the living room. All of the windows to the apartment were drawn, sealing the darkness inside.
If the heat
from the staircase was bad, the temperature inside the apartment was unbearable. The sweltering, stuffy air only worsened, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she spotted a lamp in the corner of the room. Her foot slipped in something on the floor, but she quickly caught her balance. She lifted her foot, unable to see what she’d landed in. She reached for the lamp, her fingertips brushing against the warm metal of the pole, traveling up and down until she felt the hard knob and turned on the lamp.
Light flooded the floor and revealed the crimson puddle at Cooper’s feet. She followed the river of blood to the couch, where a body lay sprawled and lifeless with a hole in his chest. She rushed over and placed her finger against his neck, confirming the death, though the man’s skin was still warm. She pulled on a glove and found his wallet, confirming his identity as Alfonso Rivera.
Cooper pivoted, her shoe smearing the blood across the floor. She stopped once she faced the wall adjacent to the couch and saw the red crayon scribbled across the wall: I hope you’re ready for another story, Detective. The words mocked her, and Cooper tightened her grip on the pistol.
“Detective?” The landlady’s voice echoed from down the hall. “Is everything okay in there?”
“Stay in the hallway.” Cooper reached for her phone and dialed Hart as she stepped past the confused and startled landlady and rushed down the stairs, trailing a bloody footprint. “Hart, Alfonso Rivera was murdered, very recently. I’m at his apartment now. I think the killer is still in the area.” The pain in her right leg returned on her hurried descent, and she winced with every step but refused to slow her pace.
“I’ll send a unit over, but it might be a while. The FBI is running the show over here now.”
Cooper burst out the door and continued her sprint into the streets. She looked left and right, the sun nearly set and the dark of night slowly consuming the neighborhood. She spied a figure in a hoodie, walking quickly, and Cooper followed, keeping Hart on the line. “Did you find anything on the stadium cameras?”
“It was a dead end. Most of the footage was corrupted, and I’m guessing we know who to thank for that.”
The hooded figure turned left onto a cross street, and Cooper paused, ducking behind the cover of a concrete wall that encased an elevated home with a dirt yard until the suspect had walked past. She craned her neck around the corner and saw the hooded figure a few houses down. “Get the unit over to Rivera’s apartment immediately. I want the crime scene locked down.”
Before Hart responded Cooper hung up. She hobbled down the street, gaining on the hooded figure until she was directly behind him. “Freeze!” Her hands flexed tightly over the pistol’s grip. “Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly.”
The suspect complied, keeping their head lowered at first, but when it was finally raised Cooper saw the frightened face of a female teen. Cooper lowered her gun, still gasping for breath. “I’m sorry. I thought…” She looked behind her and around the rest of the streets. “I’m sorry.”
The front door of the nearest house burst open, and a man and a woman stepped out onto the porch. “What’s going on out here?” The woman wore an old T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair wrapped up in a towel and a scowl etched across her face.
Cooper holstered the weapon and flashed her badge, keeping her hands in the air. “Everything’s fine, ma’am. It was just a misunderstanding.” She looked back to the young teen, whose cheeks had grown wet with tears. “I’m sorry.” Cooper retreated, the woman on the porch screaming after her as she disappeared.
“We’re tired of you cops coming down here and harassing us! She didn’t do anything wrong!”
Cooper looked down to her foot. The blood still lingered around the edge of her shoe but no longer left a trail when she walked. She clenched her fists, her eyes darting around the neighborhood as she wondered if the killer was still watching.
Chapter 5
When Cooper arrived at the precinct the FBI’s black sedans had already invaded the parking lot, which set the tone for the redecorating inside the building. The precinct had transformed into chaos as FBI shirts and jackets outnumbered their own. The horde of federal agents spoke with officers, reviewed documents, and seized evidence. She looked for Hart and found him outside the largest concentration of federal agents near their office. “Hey, did you get everything?”
Hart pulled her into one of the empty offices. “I tried getting here before the feds, but they sent a unit over right after you left. They’ve already bagged everything. Any luck with Rivera’s place?”
Cooper glanced down to the shoe that was still crusted with blood and shook her head. “Nothing new.” She looked past the dozens of heads in the bullpen and spotted Farnes, speaking with Agent Hemsworth. She cut through the bullpen toward Hemsworth. All of the officers made it a point to step in her path, smacking her in the shoulder as they walked past. The anger from Roterro’s death was still fresh, and she was the punching bag for their rage.
“Detective Cooper,” Farnes said, grumbly. “This is Special Agent Hemsworth. He’ll be taking over the investigation of your suspect.”
“The captain told me about your sister.” Hemsworth kept his voice low, and the normal gruff procedural voice had been replaced with a softer tone. “I’m sorry.”
“Agent Hemsworth has asked for a liaison to help him with the case, and I told him that you would be up for the job.” Farnes rocked back and forth from heel to toe and raised his eyebrows. “Though I did tell him I might be concerned about your mentality considering your proximity to the case.”
During Cooper’s tenure under Farnes he’d never shown any inkling of willingness to help her, so the endorsement was shocking as it was alarming. “The killer used the groundskeeper’s identity to plant the bomb. You need to get a forensics team over to Alfonso Rivera’s apartment. I’m assuming the handwriting of the message left on the wall was done by Rivera, but it could be the killer’s. I’m sure you have access to better analytic resources than we do. You might be able to find a match if it’s not Rivera’s handwriting.”
“These notes,” Hemsworth said, remaining rigid, with his hands tucked behind his back. “It’s his way of communicating?”
“From what we’ve seen so far, yes. What he makes them write seems to differ with each person, but they’re all written in red crayon.”
“Why?” Hemsworth asked, his face scrunched tight as if he were thinking too hard.
“I don’t know.”
“Glad I’m not the only one then,” Hemsworth said. “We’ll need access to your apartment. I understand there was writing there as well. You can inform one of our agents of any personal effects you might need, and you can retrieve them once we’ve tagged our evidence.”
“I’m fine.”
“Captain,” Hemsworth said, looking to Farnes. “I’d like to speak with the detective in private for a moment.”
“Of course. Feel free to use my office. And, Detective, when the special agent is done with you I’d like to have a word.” With all of the attention, Farnes was in a rare mood, though Cooper wasn’t sure what he expected to gain with the feds. With his mind already in retirement, it wasn’t as if he could opt for a career shift into the bureau.
Hemsworth shut the door behind him, and the bustling ruckus of the precinct dulled behind the office walls. “Like the captain mentioned earlier I could use someone that’s already familiar with the suspect’s motives and habits to help with the investigation.” He kept his posture rigid, even behind closed doors. If Cooper had ever seen a more molded sculpture of the stereotypical federal agent, she couldn’t remember. “I took a look at your file. Ninety-five percent arrest rate, with the same conviction rate once the DA takes your suspects to trial.” He tilted his head up, casting his eyes down on her. “Impressive.”
“Anything else my file tell you?” Cooper asked, annoyed with the line of questioning.
“You lost a son.”
A rush of frozen ice burst from Cooper’s hear
t and flowed through every vein in her body, and she stiffened. “Those records are confidential.”
“For people not in my position, perhaps.” Hemsworth took a step forward, his figure looming over her, and left only an inch of space between them. “You never married, never attempted to have any more children, perhaps due to your absent father who you never knew, and once your mother passed, your sister became your only living blood relative. If she dies, you’re alone. And in my experience when people are forced into solitude they become irrational. Unpredictable.”
Cooper clenched her jaw. “You’ve done your homework.” She pushed off the desk and paced to the front of the office. “But there’s only so much a paper trail can tell you. Sooner or later you have to get your hands dirty.” She turned around, rubbing the still-healing knuckles on her right hand. “And I haven’t washed mine in a while.”
Hemsworth remained quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You will assist my team. You will not direct them or lead them. That is my job. And just for the record I’m not keeping you on because of what your file told me.”
“Then why?”
With his hand on the door knob he looked back and his face retained the stoic expression that was the most seasoned in his repertoire. “Because the fact that he has your sister makes you angry. It makes it personal. This guy chose you for a reason. And I intend to use that to my advantage.” Hemsworth shut the door and sealed her inside alone.
Bait. Cooper waved it off. It didn’t matter the reasons, all that mattered was she was still involved. The door opened and shut again when Farnes stepped inside, and he lingered by the door. The two stood in silence, the scene reminiscent of duels in the old west. But with the long morning she’d already had, Cooper wasn’t in the mood for another standoff. “What do you want, Farnes?”
“The investigation of Zane Marks. Drop it.” Farnes remained at the door, his large body blocking the exit. He pointed to his phone. “I just got off the phone with his probation officer, and he told me that you went to his office and harassed both him and Marks.”