In all three photos, a thick white bandaged encased the top half of his head, his left eye encircled by a band of blue bruising. The bridge of his nose was bent slightly to the side, his bottom lip puffy and split.
“Damn,” Glenn read, Reed pushing the screen down past the images. “Broken nose, fractured orbital bone, severe concussion.”
“Three broken knuckles,” Reed added, “so he definitely fought back.”
“Still...” Glenn said, letting her voice fall away. “Damn.”
Rolling the silver ball atop the computer mouse, Reed pushed the file lower still, past the photos and assorted medical reports, down to the final discharge from Franklin Medical.
Like the prior file, large swaths of it had been redacted, including any mention of Dan Gilmore or the final handwritten assessments from Dennis Weston.
Pausing there, Reed stared at the screen, allowing a loud sigh to be heard.
“Remind me again how you found out about the connection between Weston and Gilmore?” Glenn asked. “I’m guessing your files on all of these guys looking something like this.”
Releasing his grip on the mouse, Reed ran a hand back over his scalp before scratching at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t run them. I have a...let’s just call him something of a tech wizard that helps me out with this stuff from time to time.”
The comment pulled Glenn’s attention toward him, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Oh-kay?”
The only acknowledgement Reed made was to lift the right corner of his mouth slightly before lowering it and his hand back into place. “I’m not sure where he dug, but my guess would be he either pulled originals from Franklin Medical or he went to the FBI themselves.”
The crease disappeared as Glenn’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “No shit?”
“Like I said - tech wizard.”
Reed left it at that as he turned back to the computer, again using the mouse to scroll down the page. “Okay, so he was released on October 3rd of last year...”
“And less than three weeks later he was dead,” Glenn said, watching as the official release forms faded from sight, the next thing in order coming up.
It too was a written police report, this one from Hilltop, jurisdiction of the 19th Precinct, no more than 10 miles from where they now sat. It contained a detailed workup and full description of everything that was found at the scene, Reed giving it a quick onceover, recognizing the name for the filing officer as Kyle Dawkins, a guy he knew by sight and reputation, but hadn’t had a lot of personal interaction with.
Seeing and dismissing it in a moment, Reed moved on down the screen. All breath was pulled from his chest, sweat again appearing on his skin as he stared past the report to the images beneath it. Beside him he heard Glenn inhale sharply before raising the back of her fist to her mouth and turning away, her hair creating a slight breeze as it swung past Reed’s shoulder.
Remaining completely motionless, Reed stared a moment at the screen before minimizing the program from sight. He sat for several more thereafter, drawing in deep breaths, willing his heart rate to slow down.
He’d already seen Dan Gilmore hung, his tongue removed from his throat that morning.
He didn’t need to see Marco Sanz, too.
Chapter Forty-Five
Reed hadn’t noticed it upstairs in the bullpen, though in the close confines of Grimes’s office he could plainly detect the scent of blood. It clung to his and Glenn’s clothing, to Billie’s thick hair, the molecules penetrating their pores as they stood in the living room of Dan Gilmore’s home.
Seated across from them it was possible Grimes picked up on it, the frown on his face a bit deeper set than usual.
“I hear you guys had quite an enjoyable interaction with the FBI this morning,” he opened.
The comment drew a slight wince from Reed, recalling the spat with Cohn, his own behavior throughout. He knew Grimes well enough to know his captain would have his back as much as possible, but that still didn’t mean he was free to exploit such loyalty.
“Yeah,” Reed said, drawing the word out an extra syllable or two. “That’s on me, Captain.”
“No,” Glenn said, extending a hand toward him, “that’s on the FBI. The guy was stomping around and yelling, basically just trying to make a scene. Reed shut him down cold, tried to get something productive out of the man.”
Grimes remained silent a moment, fixing his gaze on Glenn before shifting his hound dog eyes to Reed. “Did it work?”
“Just enough for him to tell us they would be conducting an investigation and they didn’t need our help.”
Another moment passed as Grimes remained in the same position. With his fingers laced atop his stomach, he tapped the pads of his thumbs together, clearly mulling something.
“And he didn’t even want to hear what you’d uncovered up to that point?”
“Not one word,” Reed said.
Again Grimes retreated into his usual pose before raising a hand and running it over the length of his face. “Christ,” he muttered, passing the hand atop his features once more before returning it to position on his midsection.
“So, Marco Sanz,” Grimes said. “Before this morning, I’d never heard of him.”
“Nor should you have,” Reed said. “He was arrested on a basic traffic stop before your time, found to be wanted in connection to GTA, passed along to Robbery.
“Before somebody associated with him decided to shoot Ike and Bishop, there was absolutely no reason for you to have ever crossed paths with him.”
“Somebody associated?” Grimes asked. “As in, not him?”
“No,” Glenn said. “He died a year ago today. We had a strong supposition that everything happening was tied to that, but now we know for sure.”
She fell silent, twisting her head slightly to see past Grimes, to look out the window at the parking lot. The midday sun refracted off the tops of dozens of cars, a handful of solo pedestrians traveling to and from the building interspersed between them.
Grimes waited a moment for her to continue and when no sound came he shifted his focus over to Reed.
“Dan Gilmore was killed in the same exact way as Marco Sanz,” Reed said. “Hung with a thick rope from a light fixture, his tongue removed and stuffed in his front pocket.”
A low grunt rolled from Grimes. “Standard retaliation in gang circles for someone believed to be a snitch.”
“Right,” Reed said, “but we found nothing in his file to indicate gang affiliation.”
“Who was he running with?” Grimes asked. “I doubt he amassed that many car thefts by himself.”
“Don’t know,” Reed said, “all other names have been redacted from his file.”
The frown deepened again, stretching into an inverted crescent over four inches in length. “You’re kidding me.”
“Most of the notes from his Franklin Medical file too,” Reed said, “including all mention of Dan Gilmore.”
“Yet somehow the killer knew all about it,” Grimes countered.
Reed paused there a moment, pondering the statement. He had not yet even considered the notion of somebody on the force being involved, especially with all the targets being law enforcement themselves.
Still, as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t completely rule out the possibility.
“You really think this could have been one of ours?” Reed asked.
“No,” Grimes said. “More likely, Sanz told whoever this is about it when he got out. Just saying, we can’t completely rule anything out.”
“Hmm,” Reed said, nodding. He glanced over to Glenn, her head still cocked slightly to the side, no doubt wrestling to push the conglomerated images of Gilmore and Sanz from her mind.
After her display of digestive pyrotechnics in Gilmore’s living room, he was willing to give her all the time she needed.
“At this point, I’m inclined to think the killer is done,” Reed said. “They’ve gotten the officers that ar
rested him, the warden that oversaw him, the agent that turned him, which ultimately got him killed.”
“And planned it so it all culminated on the anniversary of his death,” Glenn added, her voice just a touch detached as she turned back to face the conversation.
“Right,” Reed said. “So hopefully they’re finished, but that also means no new leads or information. Whatever happens from this point forward is on us.”
The words were not meant as a challenge, though Reed recognized they sounded as such. They hung in the room for several moments, nobody saying anything, before Grimes asked, “So where does this leave you?”
“First stop is the court,” Reed said. “I’d like to get a transcript of his initial trial. He was in Franklin Medical at the time, but hopefully somebody that worked with him will be mentioned.”
Grimes nodded, remaining silent.
“We should also put someone on his gravesite,” Glenn said. “If today was important enough to plan all this around, bears to reason they’ll show up to pay their respects at some point.”
The notion was something Reed had not considered, being so focused on their side of the investigation. Her reasoning did make sense though, their only hope that the killer hadn’t already been by, the day fast approaching noon.
“Greene and Gilchrist said they’re happy to do whatever,” Reed said. “McMichaels and Jacobs are always up for some overtime.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Grimes said.
Reed wasn’t sure if he was referring to signing off on the overtime or making sure somebody got out to the cemetery, but didn’t bother inquiring further.
If Grimes said it was covered, it was.
“After that?” Grimes asked.
Glancing over to Glenn, Reed drew in a long breath through his nose. He held it there, his lungs expanded as wide as possible, before releasing it slowly.
“If the file reveals nothing, we track down the officers that found Sanz’s body last year,” Reed said. He paused again, playing back Sanz’s file in his mind, forcing himself to slow down, to process, not to skip past anything important.
“And maybe in the meantime I’ll give Deek a call, see if he can’t get around some of those redactions we saw all over the original reports.”
Chapter Forty-Six
There were five different courthouses that comprised the Franklin County judicial system. Spaced equidistant around the city, one each was assigned to the respective corners of the map – Worthington, Gahanna, Bexley, and Grove City – with the fifth placed downtown. Each court had its own geographic region to cover, designations that had started as five equal orbs and been gerrymandered a bit over time to accommodate for case load.
Twenty months prior, the case of Franklin Co. v. Sanz had been handled in the Grove City branch. The clerk had explained to Reed over the phone that while the official court holding was public record and could be read through Westlaw, Nexus Lexus, or a number of other such sites, the full official file had to be accessed in person.
Hanging up without objection, Reed, Glenn, and Billie had loaded back into his sedan, leaving hers still parked in the front visitor stall and heading south. Again he fought the urge to run the siren or lights, longing for the time it would save, knowing that the privilege of using such things had to wait until absolutely necessary.
For whatever reason, Reed couldn’t deny the feeling that such a time was coming, but it still was most certainly not upon them yet.
The lunch crowd made the roads a bit busier than they had been driving back from Gilmore’s, though most of the traffic was heading back in toward the city as opposed to away from it. Pushing hard they were able to make the trek in just over 15 minutes, much of it spent in silence, Glenn with the case file open on her lap, offering only the occasional comment on something she found.
In the backseat Billie had resumed pacing, her usual stance when starting to get antsy, excess energy beginning to build up. Unlike most days, when Reed would be sure to let her out for a few runs, the occasional trip to relieve herself, thus far she had been cooped up much of the morning.
Like them, she had no doubt gotten an adrenaline spike from the scene at Gilmore’s, Reed only able to guess at how much luck she was having in getting it to dissipate.
The Grove City branch of the Franklin County court system announced itself with a freestanding sign constructed of gold letters on a black background. Rising three feet in height and stretched twice that in length, it stood on the front lawn, landscaped with its own mulch bed and several fall mums in a menagerie of colors.
Behind it rose the courthouse itself, a throwback to the ‘50s style of architecture, made entirely of light colored brick. Rising three stories tall, it was wide enough to make the building still seem squat, three even rows of windows lining the front. The first floor was deep-set into the ground, giving cause for a front staircase that rose eight feet before serving as entry onto the second floor.
The front lawn of the courthouse was cut short, fresh ruts displaying that regular maintenance was still underway despite the calendar. A pair of young men in slacks and ties walked diagonally across it as Reed pulled around to the side of the building and eased into the visitor lot, taking the third available diagonal stall facing the building.
“She said the clerk’s office is around back,” Reed said as they exited, Billie again pushing her way out right behind him, refusing to be left behind. Reed made no effort to stop her as she went, merely reaching behind his seat and taking up the short lead and affixing it to her collar.
Twenty minutes after leaving the 8th Precinct, the trio passed through a door into the bottom level of the building, a small bell ringing overhead, announcing their presence. As it did so, a short, diminutive woman with hair bottle-dyed the color of cranberry juice stood from her desk and walked forward to the front counter.
She held a hand up to cover her mouth as she went, waiting until she swallowed before saying, “Sorry about that, you just caught me having lunch.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Reed said, waving a hand in her direction. “This is Investigator Cassidy Glenn, I’m Detective Reed Mattox, we spoke on the phone a few moments ago.”
The woman stared blankly at him a moment before the proverbial light bulb went off above her head, her mouth and eyes all three widening into congruent circles. “Oh, yes!” she said, almost yelling, raising a finger toward the ceiling. “You wanted to take a look at the Sands case.”
“Sanz,” Reed corrected. “S-A-N-Z.”
The woman’s face fell as she realized her mistake, rotating at the waist to glance back at her desk, the pile of fast food growing cold behind her. “Oh,” she said. “Apparently I pulled the wrong file. And here I thought I would be helpful and save us all some time.”
“That’s okay,” Glenn said, “we didn’t mean to interrupt. We’re happy to go dig for ourselves.”
The woman glanced to both of them, her uncertainty obvious, before again turning to look at her lunch. “Are you sure? I’m happy to go find it.”
“Not a problem,” Reed said.
“Just point us in the right direction,” Glenn added.
“Well, come on back,” the woman said, waving an arm at them, all three circling around the counter as she led them past her desk and a couple of small offices to a short stairwell.
She paused at the top of it and extended a finger, saying, “Forgive me if I don’t make the trip, too. My knee isn’t what it used to be.”
“Not a problem,” Reed repeated. “What are we looking for down there?”
“Just follow the signs,” she said, “everything is arranged by date.”
Nodding his thanks, Reed descended the stairs first, Billie’s feet clattering against the polished tile, fighting for purchase. The sharp decline of the stairs caused her to gain momentum as she went, her bulk almost slamming into Reed’s knees from behind, depositing her in the basement and forcing her to jog forward to slow her descent.
; Behind them Glenn came one step at a time, her heavy shoes knocking against the floor.
“That was graceful,” she said, pausing at the foot of the stairwell and surveying the room around them.
“She can’t be a lady all the time,” Reed replied, taking in the spread as well.
The basement level of the building looked to be one large warehouse, the entire space open, no walls or dividers of any kind. Standard metal shelving units filled most of the area, each one loaded with brown file boxes. Separated into two columns, they stretched out straight before them, a walkway six feet in width dividing them.
Elongated light bulbs were affixed to the ceiling in even rows, casting a bright white light over everything.
“So, he was sentenced in February of 2013, right?” Glenn asked.
Flicking his gaze to the ceiling, Reed did the math backwards in his head, starting with Sanz’s death and going from there. “Yes. He was already inside at the time, but that’s when he was officially sentenced.”
“Okay,” Glenn said, raising a hand before her and pointing to the white cards affixed to the end of each shelving unit. “It looks like these start in 2005 and work their way forward, so we need to look down on the far end there.”
Dropping Billie’s lead to the floor, Reed let her drag it behind her as they moved forward, walking quickly through the rows until they found 2013. Starting on the right side of the aisle, they moved about halfway down the length of the row before finding the cases for February, more than 50 boxes filling 10 shelves in total.
“Damn,” Reed muttered, “all this for one month?”
“And this is just one branch of the County court system,” Glenn said.
“Never let it be said the taxpayers aren’t getting their money’s worth,” Reed said, going to the opposite end of the February files and beginning to work his way back toward Glenn.
The Kid: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 3) Page 20