There was a shopping mall not that far away. Surely there had to be some payphones there that he could use. It would take him no more than five minutes to get there if he stepped on it. The police wouldn’t hesitate, and they would dispatch a few units right away. And especially when he told them who the house belonged to. If they were short on evidence on Brunner, and thus unable to book him after the interview last night, they would come rushing over straight away. They were probably trying to figure out how to bring him in at this very moment.
He ran back across the street and threw himself behind the wheel of the Audi. Then he did a quick u turn and continued toward the main road and the shopping mall five blocks away.
It took him exactly eleven minutes from the time he got inside his car and drove off, and until he hung up the receiver on the payphone inside the wide aisle just in from the entrance of ‘La Galeria’, the local shopping mall.
He had contacted his source in the homicide unit, who had listened attentively to what he had to say and who afterward had assured him that a police unit would be there within the next five minutes. Then Peter had run back to his car and started making his way back to the house, hoping that it wasn’t too late.
Matt stood completely still and looked down at the young man who was lying on his couch. The red patch underneath his chest had spread out and made its way down the side of the furniture and on to the floor, where it had formed an almost perfect circle. There was also blood on the wall behind the couch, telling Matt that the guy had been sitting up when he had been shot.
It was also abundantly clear that the guy was dead. Matt had seen enough dead bodies in his life to last him a lifetime. The guy must have lost close to half a gallon of blood, and no one could survive that.
Matt had discovered him pretty much straight away after he’d entered the living room. But he’d had enough sense to go through the rest of the house first and make sure there was no one else there before returning to the body.
He had searched each room methodically, and after a couple of minutes of intense mental pressure, and a foreboding feeling that he was going to end up in a shootout with the person that had killed the guy on the couch, he had returned to the living room and the spot where he was now currently standing.
Matt had absolutely no idea who the man was and why he had been killed. And he had even less of an idea why the guy had been killed inside his house, and what the hell he had been doing there in the first place.
Ideally, Matt would have liked to have a look at the man’s wallet so he could figure out who he was, but he had enough sense not to touch the body. There was no need to leave fingerprints on a murder victim, and especially one that was located in his own house. It was a job for the police to establish the identity of the deceased and figure out why he had been killed, and by whom. Matt would soon enough find out the details when the media caught wind of it.
He also knew that the police would treat him as a prime suspect, or at least think that he had somehow been involved in the murder. And especially now, after they had informed him that he was their number one suspect in the slaying of the cartel boss in downtown Phoenix a few days prior. Was this murder somehow related to that incident? Had the young man died because of Senor Rodriguez?
Matt kept his eyes on the dead man and reflected on how calm he was despite having found a dead body in his living room. He hadn’t freaked out, lost his nerve and stormed out of the house. No, he had kept going, and only put his guard down once he knew he was alone in the house.
He knew that the reaction would come later on, and that he would relive this moment hundreds of times in the coming months. He would also think about various alternative scenarios, scenarios where the gunman was hiding behind a corner and peppering him with the same bullets that had killed the young man. And he would be left with the questions that always popped up in his mind after situations such as this. Why did I survive? Why wasn’t I killed?
He took a step backward, the gun in his hand resting against his thigh. Then he turned around and walked over to the kitchen table, where he pulled out a chair and sat down. He stretched out his arm and placed the gun in the middle of the table, then he put his elbows on the Formica surface and rested his head in his hands.
Someone is trying to ruin my life, but I have no idea who or why. He took a couple of deep breaths and wished it was all a bad dream, one that he would soon wake up from. That all that was required of him was to open his eyes, and all of these problems would disappear. That he would find himself lying in his bed in the master bedroom and quickly forget all about the bad dream he’d been having, which was usually the case when he woke up in the mornings. But that was of course just wishful thinking. This was not a dream, and he knew it.
Half a minute passed before he lifted his head and opened his eyes again. This was his new reality. He could sit here feeling sorry for himself and curse the world for the lousy cards he had been handed. But that wouldn’t solve anything. He could reflect upon his situation later on, but right now, he had to figure out what to do next. What was the right thing to do at this very minute?
He turned around and forced himself to look at the dead body on the couch, despite knowing very well what it looked like. The image had been permanently etched in his memory.
He knew that the only sensible thing to do was to call the cops, and have them come over here and deal with it all. It might be his house, but he had certainly not pulled the trigger. And he was most definitely not to blame for what had taken place. A decent forensic investigator would have no difficulties proving that the bullets that had killed the man on the couch had not originated from his gun.
So why didn’t he just get up, walk over to the phone and dial 911? Why was the voice inside his head telling him to wait? Why was it telling him that the last thing he needed to do right now was to contact the cops?
Matt turned his eyes away from the couch and stared absentmindedly at the blinds in the window above the kitchen sink. It was pretty obvious why he was reluctant to contact the police. At least it was to him. He had no intention of ending up like the guy on the couch. That was why. If the police brought him in for questioning, which was pretty much a given, the cartel would get even more time to prepare for his assassination. And by now he was convinced that the cartel knew the police suspected that he had carried out the hit on Senor Rodriguez. He also suspected that the murder that had taken place here earlier today was somehow linked to it all. But he didn’t quite know how.
Matt felt a cold shiver run down his spine when he pondered the consequences of his line of thought. The police would discover the body either later today, or within the next few days at the latest. And the reason they would discover it was because the people from the real-estate agency would come over to inspect the house and show it to new potential tenants. And they would see the same thing that had greeted Matt when he’d entered the living room a few minutes earlier.
He had already told the guy from the real-estate agency that he was moving out, so it was only a matter of time before they showed up. Maybe not today, but definitely tomorrow or the day after that.
Hiding the body wasn’t an option either, even if he’d had the inclination to do so. It would be a complete waste of time. First and foremost because there was nowhere to hide it, and secondly because it would be impossible to clean up the mess. The couch would have to be discarded, the walls repainted and the bullet holes in it patched up. The bullets had probably ended up in the back of the dryer in the laundry, so that one would have to go as well. Then the place would have to be thoroughly scrubbed down from bottom to ceiling. It would have been a massive task and it would have taken him several days. And even after that herculean effort, there would probably still be some microscopic traces left behind. Some clue that would link the dead body to the house. But most importantly, Matt had no desire to tamper with police evidence and implicate himself even further. It was bad enough as it was.
No, if he touch
ed the body he would be headed for prison, and if he ended up in prison, the cartel would have no problem getting rid of him. Heck, members of the various cartels controlled pretty much everything that happened inside those places. No, the best thing to do was to get as far away as possible and lay low.
He stood up and began making his way back toward the laundry, but stopped briefly next to the couch and took one last look at the dead man lying there.
“You’ve just caused me a shitload of problems buddy,” he said, his voice low and dejected. “Why the hell couldn’t you find somewhere else to die?”
Then he quickly exited the house, and took the same route that he had followed when he’d arrived ten minutes earlier.
9
El Juez felt like screaming out loud, but he managed to control himself and instead settled for shaking his head and gripping the steering wheel a little more forcefully. The man that had come knocking on the door of the target’s house had completely messed up his plan. And that had upset El Juez. Not because he had to come up with a new one - although that was part of it - but mostly because the original plan would have seen him finish the job today. The unexpected turn of events would prolong his stay here in Phoenix, and that was not something he particularly wanted.
But there had been no way around it. The man who had banged on the door had mentioned that the police were on their way, and that meant that El Juez had to get out of the place fast.
He banged his hand against the door and exhaled slowly through his nose. He didn’t like interruptions. It was not part of his nature, and especially not when he was this close to his target.
It wouldn’t have been that big of a problem if it had happened in a more rural setting. Then he would just have opened the door and killed the annoying intruder. But in a busy neighborhood in a big city there were a lot more things to take into consideration. And he simply couldn’t afford to assume that the guy was bluffing. He hadn’t survived in this business for all these years by being careless.
For El Juez the house was now unfortunately off limits. He could not return to a place where there was a dead body on the couch, and where the police were bound to get involved. He would have to come up with a different plan and that could take some time, given that he had practically no information about his target and his whereabouts. He didn’t know who his friends were, who his family members were, and subsequently, where he was most likely to hole up when things got hot.
There was of course also a second possible outcome to the case, and that was that the police would re-arrest the guy and charge him with the murder of the man that El Juez had shot an hour earlier. It was still possible that the target would show up at the house while the police were going over the place. And if that happened, the police wouldn’t simply let him walk away. They would book him and bring him back to the station again.
El Juez had already seen two patrol cars turn into the street, so he knew that the man who had knocked on the door had been telling the truth. He suspected that the man had been a colleague of the journalist that he had executed. He probably wanted to make sure that his younger co-worker was ok. There had been several messages left on the guy’s cellphone, and they had come from the same number.
El Juez had managed to figure most of it out for himself, and he had a pretty good idea why the dead journalist had decided to pay the residence a visit. Somehow the guy had found out that the target had been arrested on suspicion of having carried out the hit on Senor Rodriguez. The guy must then have learned that the target had been released from police custody and been able to track down his address. He had then decided to head over there, probably with the intention of getting a comment or interview, and quite possibly a picture of him and the house.
The reasoning had been sound, and the journalist had used the same logic that he himself had used. But because the target had been nowhere in sight, none of them had achieved their goals.
It was of course also possible that the target suspected that the cartel had found out about him, and had correctly anticipated that they would retaliate. But El Juez didn’t think so. He didn’t believe that the target was thinking along those lines, at least not yet. Right now, he was probably too preoccupied mulling over the fact that he had been released from police custody. But that would soon change, and he would eventually start to get suspicious. That was of course if the police or El Juez didn’t get to him first.
A more likely explanation for the target not being at the house, was that he had simply gone to a friend’s place and spent the night there, or alternatively checked into a hotel.
If El Juez could locate him within the next few hours, before he decided to return to the house, he stood a real chance of carrying out his mission. And luckily for El Juez, he had a pretty good idea of how to obtain that information.
He eased the car into the slot in the visitor parking area in front of the apartment complex. Then he leaned over and retrieved the fake police badge from the glove compartment. Once he’d slid it into his pocket, he got out, quickly studied the area and walked over to the external wooden staircase. When he arrived on the second floor, he turned right and began making his way over to apartment 22.
It was just after nine o’clock in the morning, and he hoped he wasn’t too late, that the person he was after had exited the building and left. There was only one way to find out.
The apartment was the last one on the right and the farthest away from the road. There was no name on the door, only two plastic twos attached to the wall next to it.
El Juez gave the door a light rap and took a step back, and looked at the empty breezeway to his left. There were no security cameras, which was a good thing. He hoped he would be able to get the information he was after without having to resort to violence. But it was always reassuring to know that if things got out of hand, he would be able to get away without leaving any witnesses around.
Matt pulled over to the shoulder of the road, his eyes glued to the rear view mirror. And as he had feared, the two police cruisers he’d seen racing along in the opposite direction, turned into his street. He sucked in a lungful of air, still staring intently at the mirror, struggling to fathom what had just happened. Half a minute passed and then he finally lowered his gaze. Slowly he placed his hands on his face and started to rub it, his mind in shell shock mode.
Then the thought that he hadn’t quite dared to think materialized itself with full force, were the cops on their way over to his house? Had they somehow found out about the dead body on the couch? Yes, that had to be the case. Why else would two patrol cars with blue lights flashing enter his street this early in the morning?
But how the hell had they managed to find out?
Matt lowered his hands and put them on the steering wheel, and stared out the windshield without really focusing on anything in particular. From the corner of his eye, he could see the normal flow of traffic whiz past him on the busy road.
It had to be the gunshots. Someone must have heard the noise coming from his house and contacted the police. That was the only plausible explanation. Gunshots were loud, and people in this part of town certainly knew what they sounded like. But even so, most of the time people still chose not to call the cops. So why had they done it this time?
Then another thought came to him, and this one sent a shiver down his spine. Would the cops that he’d just seen race past attempt to force their way inside when no one came to the door? Were they even allowed to do so? He thought they probably were, and especially if they had probable cause.
All of a sudden, he remembered the laundry door. It had been unlocked when he arrived, and he hadn’t bothered to lock it when he left. Dammit! All the cops had to do was to make their way into the backyard, check the doors and they would have instant access to the house. And once they were inside, it would take them less than ten seconds to discover the body. Then all hell would break loose.
“Fuck!”
Matt slammed both hands against the steerin
g wheel and started rocking his upper body back and forth. There was no way in hell the cops wouldn’t try to pin this murder on him, and even if he managed to convince them that he was innocent, they would bring him in for a thorough questioning. And that meant he would be a sitting duck for anyone who wanted to get rid of him, especially if they sent him to the county jail overnight.
He had no choice, he would have to turn around and see for himself that it was him they were after. There was no other way. And in the back of his mind there was a tiny sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe the cops were on their way to another house. He didn’t put much credence in it, but there was still a microscopic possibility that this was the case.
Matt took a deep breath and pulled out into the traffic again. And when he arrived at the first intersection, he did a u-turn and raced back toward his street. And as he approached it, he seriously contemplated just going straight ahead. To just keep driving straight out of the city and away from all the problems that had been created for him here. But he knew he couldn’t, not until he had established that the cops really were after him.
He slowed the car, made a right turn and then he was back in the street he’d thought he’d never see again. He saw the two police cars straight away and felt a harsh coldness descend upon him. They were about a hundred and fifty yards up ahead. One was parked halfway up his driveway, while the other one had stopped out on the street.
Matt had difficulties breathing and his mouth went completely dry. His hands gripped the steering wheel even tighter, and he could feel his fingers starting to hurt. He was looking straight ahead and found it impossible to take his eyes of the cruiser in the driveway.
Shock and Awe Page 10