by EH Reinhard
I pointed toward our crashed cruiser at the edge of the road.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Hank and I stood at the base of the driveway, watching the flatbed truck leave with our cruiser. I turned and looked up toward the house to see Ed wheeling the woman’s bagged body, covered in a sheet, from the garage. He loaded her into the back of his van and then came to Hank and me.
“Kane, Rawlings,” Ed said. He stood before us in his dark blue coroner’s jacket. Ed was in his later fifties and had been the county’s chief medical examiner for going on thirty years. He pushed his thin-framed glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. “Business for me is booming apparently.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’d rather it not be.”
“We got the bullets out of some of your bodies. I had one of my guys take what we had over to your lab. The rest should come later tonight.”
“Appreciate that, Ed,” I said.
“Any kind of rush on the female here?” he asked and nodded his head at his van.
“I don’t believe so,” I said.
“Okay. We’re still a bit backlogged at the moment. Did you want me to contact next of kin on the woman, or were you guys going to handle that?”
“You go ahead,” I said. “We’re about to drive north to look into something.”
“Okay. You know how to reach me if you need anything.”
Ed walked back to his van.
“Are we ready to take off?” Hank asked.
“Yeah, Rick is going to take care of getting the Volkswagen towed back, you said?”
“He said that he was going to have the VW towed before he left here. From there, he was going to go and check out the truck and then have that towed as well.”
Officers Henry and Baker walked up. “Find a ride?” Baker asked.
“Yup,” Hank said. “Patrol has the scene?”
“We’re going to make sure everything gets wrapped up once forensics is done, and then we’ll join the foot patrols in the neighborhood where we found the truck.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
Hank pointed his chin toward the street at the corner. Driving past the news vans at the edge of the street was a dark gray Dodge Charger—Jones, our ride.
We ducked under the police tape and made our way to Jones’s unmarked cruiser. I got in the passenger seat, and Hank opted for the back behind the cage.
“Appreciate the lift, Jones,” I said and closed the passenger door.
“No sweat. I was in between phone calls, anyway.”
“Anything new?” I asked.
“Not really. Like I said, I wanted to have patrol stop over at this guy’s last known address and ask him to come in for a couple of questions. Well, after waiting for the better part of an hour, someone finally rotated off of looking for your shooter and made the house call for me. The place was empty. No clue where the hell this guy is.”
“I’m about tired of getting dead ended in this case,” I said. “Hopefully we get something from this video from this Barrilleaux’s place.”
“You’re headed straight there after we get back?” Jones asked.
“Yup. I got the owner on the phone. They have a couple of cameras and said that we were free to take a look.” I watched out of my passenger side window as we passed the entrance for the interstate.
“You have anything that’s really pressing back at the station, Jones?”
“Just another round of phone calls,” he said. “This will basically be round three, just trying to get anyone on the damn line. I feel like a telemarketer with a badge.”
“Did you want to make this drive with us?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
I made a U in the air with my finger. “Spin us around and hop on the freeway.”
Jones flipped on his left directional and got us pointed back toward the on-ramp.
My cell phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. The call was coming from the Hernando County Coroner. I clicked the Talk icon.
“Lieutenant Carl Kane,” I said.
“Hello, Lieutenant. Peter Sandford, Hernando County Coroner’s Office.”
“Hey. What have you got?”
“I have a small caliber bullet, non-fragmented, in a bag in my hand is what I got.”
“Twenty-two?” I asked.
“Looks like it. How would you like me to get this to your forensics department?”
I thought briefly. I could have called Rick and asked if he could have one of his team go and retrieve it—except that would then take them off whatever jobs they were currently working. The easiest thing was for us to pick it up, seeing as we were heading in that direction. Yet I wanted to check out the gas station and diner first. “How late could someone stop by to pick that up from you?”
“I’ll be here until around six thirty or seven tonight. If it’s after that, unfortunately it would have to wait until tomorrow morning—I show up around eight. I have a family function that I have to be at this evening, and I have to be the one to fill out the transfer of evidence forms.”
“Okay.” I glanced at the clock on the dash—a few minutes after four o’clock. I didn’t know how long it would take us at the gas station and diner. There was a chance that we could miss Sandford before he left for the evening. At that moment, getting a new lead that could put us closer to the person who shot at us and committed a murder, possibly multiple, was more valuable than tying up a loose end on something that we were fairly certain we already had the outcome on.
“Can I give you a call back in a couple minutes? I need to make a call or two here and see if I can get someone to make the drive and get it.”
“That would be fine,” Sandford said. “I have a next of kin on the man, his mother. Did you want me to make the call and have her come in?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” I said.
“Okay.”
“Thanks. I’ll give you a call back.” I clicked off.
“What was that?” Hank asked.
I looked over my shoulder to see him through the grates of the cage. “Hernando coroner removed the bullet from Tim Morgan. He has it bagged and ready for someone to pick up. He says it looks like a twenty-two.”
“So if forensics can match it up with the pistol, we’ll know the weapon that killed him and can positively put him at the scene of the gentleman’s club,” Hank said.
“Yeah, but neither of which gives us our shooter. Or who torched the van and the body. Or who killed everyone else in the club or cigar factory.”
“True,” Hank said. “So are we going to pick it up or what? It would probably only take another half hour to grab it.”
“A half hour longer in each direction,” I said. “The coroner is only going to be there until seven at the latest. I don’t know how long this stop that we have to make is going to take us. I’d like to do that before dealing with the bullet.”
“I can just drop you guys off and go and get it,” Jones said.
I shook my head. “I want you with us. Plus, if we get something that we need to move on right away, I’d rather not be stuck for an hour or longer waiting on you to get back. Let me call Rick and see if he has someone that he can send. I pulled out my phone and dialed. Rick picked up after a couple of rings.
“Kane,” he said.
“Hey, Rick. I just got off the phone with the Hernando coroner. He has a bullet in a bag for us. Says it could be a twenty-two.”
“All right,” he said.
“How are we looking at getting one of your guys to make the run up there and grab it tonight? The coroner is only going to be there until seven at the latest. After that, it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”
“We’re pretty flooded, Kane. I actually just called Rob out from the lab to go and deal with the truck. I’m going to be here at the house for probably another hour. On top of that, it’s just Kevin or Rob who would be doing the ballistics on it, and they’re both running on overtime alrea
dy. Which reminds me that I’m going to have to kick them loose within the next hour or two. Um, is there anything that’s real time sensitive on nailing Morgan to the scene or weapon? I mean that can’t wait until morning?”
“Not really,” I said. “I just figured that you’d probably like to get something checked off of the list.”
“Even if I sent someone to get it now, I don’t think we’d get to it before midday tomorrow. Why don’t I just scoop it up in the morning? Do you know what time this guy gets in?”
“I think he said around eight.”
“Okay. Let’s just do that.”
“Works for me. Did you find anything else of interest on scene?” I asked.
“I’m outside going through the car at the moment. I wanted to give it a once-over before it gets towed and while I still have a bit of sunlight out here. But I did find a little something.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I think your cups are from two different people.”
“How did you come up with that?”
“The straw in the cup minus ice has some teeth marks from chewing on it, the ice-filled cup doesn’t. Usually, a straw chewer is always a straw chewer. It could be nothing, but just something I noticed. Not sure if we could maybe match up the tooth pattern to Morgan’s body. I’ve been kind of kicking that around. If we could do that, then at least we’d know that he was the person who the cup belonged to.”
“What does that do for us?” I asked.
“Well, a dead guy can’t buy a to-go soda and chew on the straw. Meaning that we’d have two different times that two different people frequented this place. A place that’s a bit off the beaten path. Which raises the question of what are they doing in that location multiple times.”
“Yeah, I see what you’re saying,” I said.
“Just some stuff I’m spitballing. Either way, we can try to get DNA from the straws, but that’s more long-term than immediate. Let me get back to doing this. I’ll give you a ring if I stumble upon anything else.”
“Thanks, Rick,” I said.
“Yup. I’ll talk to you later.”
I dialed Sandford back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
David stood at the home’s front window. He wore a flannel shirt and pair of jeans that were a few sizes too long, courtesy of Mike, the recently departed old man. David separated the hanging blinds with his fingers so he could get a look out. The police cruisers that had been circling the neighborhood seemed to have dissipated. A couple of uniformed officers had knocked on the front door twenty minutes prior—he hadn’t seen a cop since. The helicopter that had been a staple in the sky for the entire afternoon had since left the area. Mike’s body had been dragged out of sight and jammed into a back bedroom closet. David’s window of time to leave had come.
He scooped up his bag of money and entered the garage. David got behind the wheel of Mike’s Buick. The car was twenty years old, bland, a shade of brown, and would blend into the background of just about any situation—the perfect getaway car. David fired the motor and hit the button on the visor to lift the overhead garage door. He backed out of the garage as soon as it was lifted. David’s head shot left and right as soon as he began backing down the driveway. He hit the button to close the overhead door and started up the block. David watched the street signs as he drove. The time spent waiting inside of the house was put to good use—David had mapped out the most direct route out of the neighborhood and straight to the interstate.
He drove past the houses of the subdivision. Every block or two, he’d pass an officer walking on the sidewalk. A couple of them had waved at David to stop, but he continued driving. None of the officers stepped into the roadway to block his path. David made a left. Another side street and he’d spill out onto the main road, East Busch Boulevard, which had an interstate on-ramp. David could see the crossing street and stoplights up ahead. As he stared forward, a white vehicle rounded the corner at the lights.
“Shit,” David said.
The police car neared. The light bar on the patrol car’s roof was clearly visible, as was the push bar over the grille.
“Be cool. Be cool,” David mumbled to himself. He lifted his hands to the ten and two o’clock position on the steering wheel, looked at them, and then quickly dropped them to the bottom of the wheel, out of view of the approaching officer. His hands were gloved, and David thought that might look off to an oncoming car. He kept his focus forward. The patrol car didn’t seem like it was doing much more than a few miles an hour.
David watched as the police officer’s car began to drift into his lane. The light bar on the roof lit.
“Shit,” David said. He pulled the pistol from the front of his waistline and rested it on his thigh.
The patrol car straightened out and came to a stop in the street.
David could see the single officer inside. The cop’s arm hung from the window, waving David toward him. If the cop ran the car’s plates, he’d know the vehicle didn’t belong to David. David didn’t have a driver’s license to produce for the officer if asked. David glanced over at the bag of money sitting on the passenger seat of the car and pulled up alongside the police cruiser.
The cop had a round, clean-shaved face and short blond hair.
“Sir,” the cop said.
“Evening, Officer.” David gripped the pistol, his finger on the trigger, the gun’s barrel pressed against the door and aiming directly at the officer in the other car. “Still looking, huh?” David asked. He snugged his hat lower on his head.
“Excuse me?” the officer asked.
“We just had a couple of officers stop at the house. My father lives a few blocks back. They’d asked if we’d seen anyone running around the neighborhood. I was over by him all day. We didn’t see anything off, aside from all the police patrols and helicopter overhead.”
“Do you have your driver’s license, sir?”
David paused momentarily. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
“We’re stopping anyone driving to check them out,” the cop said.
David weighed his options in a second. His eyes lifted to the rearview mirror—he saw no one and no cars. He looked forward, again seeing nothing.
“Your driver’s license,” the cop said.
David yanked the gun into the window void and fired into the police car twice. The muzzle flash lit the inside of his car. Just a few feet separated David’s window from the cop’s. He saw the officer’s body jerk.
David hit the gas and made for the corner with the stoplights. He glanced back into his side mirror. The patrol car hadn’t moved. David saw no officers or police cars. He brought his eyes back up and focused on the approaching intersection. The light was red. David looked left and spotted a gap in the oncoming vehicles—without slowing, he yanked the wheel right and made the turn, barely missing the rear bumper of the car passing in front of him. He flowed with the traffic the block and a half until he saw the freeway entrance. David veered right for the freeway ramp and floored the gas again. At the top of the on-ramp, he hit the brakes. David stared out of his windshield at the sea of non-moving cars.
“Shit!” David shouted.
He looked at the clock on the radio—rush hour. David stayed on the shoulder of the road and sped for the next exit—passing three lanes of cars standing still as he did. David took the exit and made the green light to turn right on East Fowler. A half block up and the traffic stopped. The cars moved a few feet at a time. David inched forward in the stop-and-go traffic, trying to get to the leftmost lane for Bruce B. Downs, the next main street that headed north. He made the turn as the light went yellow—at red, David and a number of other cars still sat in the middle of the intersection.
The car coming at David used its horn.
He lifted his hands, as if asking the honking driver what he should do.
The cars in front of him began forward, and David cleared the intersection. Another five minutes later and he hadn’t hi
t the next block. He looked off to his right at Florida Hospital Tampa, taking up the better part of the city block.
“Screw this,” David said.
He pulled into the turn lane and made a right into the hospital complex. David weaved around the facility until he found the parking structure. He found a spot, grabbed the bag of cash, and left the car. As he walked back toward the main entrance, he called Chris, who picked up after a few rings.
“I’m out of the area,” David said. He took a seat on the metal bench to the right of the main doors. “Come and pick me up.”
“Where are you at now?”
“The hospital on Bruce B. Downs and Fletcher.”
“How did you get out?” Chris asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m out. Just come and get me so we can get the hell on the road. I’ll wait near the main entrance to the place.”
“All right. We’re on our way. Do you still have the money?”
David figured that was the only reason Chris and Brad would take even the slightest risk of picking him up. “Yeah, I have it. I think it’s actually a little more than what I previously thought. We’ll split it up as soon as you guys grab me.”
“Sure. We’ll see you within the hour.”
David clicked off and walked through the sliding glass doors of the hospital. He found the family waiting area and took a seat. David set the bag of money next to his ankle and scooped up a magazine from the table beside him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
My cell phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and saw that the call was coming from the station. I clicked Talk.
“Kane,” I said.
“It’s Timmons. Your guy just shot one of my officers on patrol.”
“What?” I snapped. “Where, when, who was it? What’s his condition?”
“This happened about twenty minutes ago. A few blocks from where we were searching. Officer Reiter pulled up on an older Buick and asked for an ID from the driver. The driver pulled a gun and fired twice into the patrol car. One round caught Reiter in the arm, another in his vest. Paramedics are taking him to Tampa General, but he gave us that statement from the scene.”