by Blake Pierce
“Well, yeah, he did. But with all due respect, I’m not too sure looking into that employee would be worth your time.”
“Why is that?”
There was a dry chuckle from Jack Mulligan’s throat. “Matt was a good worker for sure, but he’s got one hell of a temper on him. You mind me asking why you want to talk with him?”
“Sorry, sir. I can’t really say at this point.”
“Well, you’re welcome to ask what you want but I honestly think Matt is all bark and no bite. Nowadays anyway. I know he had a rocky past and all but…I think he might be a good soul down deep.”
Kate appreciated Jack’s attempt at protecting a former employee. But she also knew that many profiles of people who committed homicide sounded just like that. Especially when the suspect already had a history—recently going so far as to threaten violence on the people he worked with.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Kate said, “but all the same, time is of the essence, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me the best way to get in touch with him.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if he truly wanted to give the information. Finally, he sighed and answered: “I can give you his phone number and address,” he said. “But let me warn you…if his wife is there, you may want to keep your distance. I spoke with her this morning. She asked if I could send her his last check. This was the third job he’s quit in a year and she’s plenty pissed.”
“Thanks, but we’ll take our chances.”
After Jack gave her the information, she thanked him and plugged the address into the map application on her phone. Being that Estes wasn’t a large town at all, Kate wasn’t surprised to see that the address was less than ten miles away.
“Full name is Matt Redman,” Kate told DeMarco. “Twenty-nine years old and, according to Jack Mulligan, built like a slab of granite.”
“Much more promising than a middle-aged woman with a bad back,” DeMarco commented.
They both chuckled at this as they headed directly along the edge of the lake, the afternoon sunlight sparkling from the water beside them.
***
Matt Redman lived in a small apartment complex located about a mile away from the nearest lake access. The apartment complex was similar to the townhouses they had visited while looking for Roger Carr. The building was two stories tall, connected by stairways built into concave entryways.
Redman’s place was on the second floor. They passed by two men standing outside, one vaping while the other griped about politics. The blasting of rap music could be heard from a few doors down, but it wasn’t outrageous. The place seemed mostly quiet, like the rest of the town as it mourned the loss of summer crowds and income.
They came to his apartment, and DeMarco knocked on the door. Kate was happy to let her assume the lead here; after the phone call from Duran earlier, Kate wanted to give DeMarco every opportunity she could to regain some of her confidence.
Immediately after DeMarco knocked, they could hear heavy footfalls coming toward the door. They were moving fast, as if the person inside was expecting company. When the door opened, it was not Matt Redman they saw, but a very angry-looking woman. She was slightly overweight and wearing a very thin T-shirt with no bra, and gym shorts. When the woman spotted two women at the door, her face scrunched up into a comical-looking confusion.
“Who the hell are you?” the woman asked.
DeMarco had no qualms about showing her badge and ID in response to the rude question. “Agents DeMarco and Wise, FBI. We’re looking for Matt Redman.”
“That makes three of us,” the woman said. “He’s not here. Hasn’t been since about ten o’clock this morning when he told me he quit his job. Asshole had been hiding it from me for a few days.”
“Do you know what he has been doing these last few days, if not going to work?”
“I don’t know. My guess is hanging out at one of the bars around town. He’s no prize, so I don’t think I need to worry that he’s been having an affair.”
“Mrs. Redman, can you—”
“What the hell does the FBI want him for? What’s he been doing?” She looked slightly alarmed, but anger appeared to still be her first expression.
“His name came up in the investigation into three recent murders.”
The anger faded, though just for a moment. Mrs. Redman’s face went slack, as she was clearly shocked. She uttered: “Shit.”
“We just need to speak with him,” Kate cleared up. “He’s not a suspect.”
This wasn’t entirely true; they had no way of knowing what sort of man they might be dealing with. But still, she knew that an angry spouse was usually going to be a reliable source of information As screwed up as it seemed, Kate was sure that if they kept her angry, she might reveal something that could help them.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” DeMarco asked.
A thin smile came over Mrs. Redman’s lips. Kate supposed she was relishing the fact that she was about to send the FBI on her husband’s tail.
“I know exactly where he is. He went down to his favorite bar—Jake’s on the Lake. When you two came knocking, I thought it was him.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Redman.”
“You feel free to let him know I was the one that told you where he was. And then tell him if he wants a wife anymore, he better bring his sorry ass back home.”
Neither agent said anything to this. Even if she’d wanted to say something, Kate had no idea how to respond to something like that. They turned away, and Kate heard the woman closing the door rather roughly behind them.
“Well, I think it’s clear she isn’t so sure her husband would be capable of murder,” DeMarco said.
“But she wouldn’t mind getting him into trouble…making him sweat a bit, anyway.”
“So let’s go make him sweat,” DeMarco said.
***
Jake’s on the Lake was a strange establishment, as it seemed to cater to two different lifestyles all at once. On the far end, a long pier extended out onto the lake. The bar area, located under a beautifully decorated awning, looked rather high scale. Kate assumed this had been the part of Jake’s at the Lake that Margie Phelps and her friends had once met for drinks. The other half of the place was tucked away inside. There was a second bar located to the right and just behind the central dining area. It was dimly lit and had the eerie glow of most smaller bars, illuminated by generic neon signs advertising light beer and TV screens perched behind it.
It was 2:28 in the afternoon on a Thursday, and the bar was relatively dead. Three people sat at the bar—a younger couple on one end, sipping from dark beers, and a lone man sitting in the center. His back was hunched and he sat in a slouched position, as if protecting whatever he was drinking.
They approached the lone man, DeMarco giving Kate the nod to go first. Kate did, approaching the bar and the lone man. “Mind if I sit here?” she asked.
The man looked up at her, narrowed his eyes, and shrugged. “Plenty of other stools here, but sure. You can sit here if you want.”
Kate didn’t think he was drunk yet, but he was rapidly approaching it. There was no skepticism in his voice or glare, just annoyance. She wondered if he might have offered more attention if DeMarco had taken the stool instead. She was well aware that at fifty-six, she was not quite the visual bait she had once been.
“Are you Matt Redman, by any chance?” she asked.
The man turned back to her right away. She had his attention now, the irritation in his eyes now replaced by confusion and anger.
“My wife send you?” he asked. When he said wife, he sneered. “You one of her stupid nosy-bitch friends?”
“Actually, no,” Kate said. “We’re with the FBI. We’re in town looking into a string of recent murders, and your name came up.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. Seems that you might have had access to several of the homes we—”
Her words were halted as
the man moved with blatant speed. In her long career, Kate had been trained to expect the unexpected—to always be prepared for anything. But even she had to take a few seconds for her mind to catch up to what was happening.
Redman slapped at the mug of beer he was drinking from. The action was so sudden and unexpected that Kate jumped, nearly falling from her barstool. The mug of beer came right at her, falling off the bar and splashing against her. The glass mug struck her knee and then hit the floor, where it shattered.
Reeling for balance, Kate looked back at DeMarco, as if to make sure someone else was seeing this absurd turn of events and she wasn’t just imagining it. DeMarco looked just as confused as Kate was, her hand hovering hesitantly over her sidearm.
And that distraction was all it took. By the time Kate slid away from the barstool, smelling beer all over her, Redman was headed to the right, toward the restaurant’s outdoor area.
Kate heard DeMarco yell out: “Freeze!”
It sounded almost as absurd as what had just happened to her. Kate took off after Redman, DeMarco right on her heels. She found herself reaching for her gun but knew better than to pull it out in a public place unless it was absolutely necessary.
She was only about five steps behind Redman when he blasted right through the door that led outside onto the little deck over the water that connected the two halves of the restaurant. Kate watched as he took a hard right, headed back toward the street. She and DeMarco ran through the door before it had time to close and took off after him.
Running had never bothered Kate; even at her age, she often enjoyed it. Of course, running down a potential suspect was much different from her morning runs through Carytown or some of the nature trails around Richmond. She and DeMarco were about equally fast, DeMarco pulling just slightly ahead as they gave chase. Kate saw that DeMarco had not pulled her weapon yet, either. Kate figured that a man who had come to drink away the failure of losing another job and trying to stay away from his wife was likely not packing any heat. But, of course, he was definitely running for some reason.
If Redman was drunk, it was not evident in the way he ran. There was urgency in his steps as he ran forward without looking back. He appeared to be going straight, which would eventually lead them to the little main stretch of road that served as Estes’s Main Street, passing through town and running along the edge of the lake. But he took a very sudden left turn. For a moment, Kate thought the man had gotten confused (perhaps he was drunk after all) and was going to slam right into the side of a small drug store. But as she and DeMarco neared the place where he turned, she saw the entrance to a small alleyway.
As DeMarco turned into the alley, Kate followed closely behind. They alley cut behind several businesses, ending in a chain-link fence. But just as the agents entered the alleyway, Kate saw Redman take another left, winding behind more buildings. If he knew the area as well as his speed indicated, she feared they might lose him.
They came to where Redman had taken the second left, following behind him. He had managed to gain a few feet on them, taking a bit more of a lead. Even now, as they entered the same alley—this one thinner and clearly used only for businesses to dump their trash for pickup—Redman was already nearing the end of it.
Here, he continued straight, heading for an opening that revealed a street at the end. Kate managed to find another gear somewhere in her calves and lungs. She took the lead over DeMarco, resisting the urge to pull her gun and fire a warning shot to freeze the man. And while she might get a pass from Duran over such an action, she knew it was would not be smart to use such a tactic in front of DeMarco. She knew it was never smart to fire a shot unless it was absolutely necessary—especially not midday in a quiet little lakeside town.
So instead, she simply ran on. She closed the distance between them as Redman neared the street. He hung a right and it was the sudden movement of it that helped Kate gain an advantage. She had to give him credit; he took the turn at the last minute, likely trying to get a few more steps on them.
But in doing so, his shoulder barely clipped the edge of the wall to his right. He bounced from it, missed about two steps, and then continued the turn. But by the time he had his balance and trajectory again, Kate was close enough. She dove low, knowing she no longer had the strength for a traditional tackle. Instead, she went for his knees. She drove her shoulders into the back of his knees, banging her own knees on the pavement as she did so.
The pain in her right leg was all the evidence she needed to remind her that she could not be as physical as she once could. The low blow was weak, only working because it caused Redman’s feet to tangle together. He went down, instantly pulling himself away from her weak grip.
Kate hung on to his right leg, pulling back on it just as DeMarco played clean-up. She fell on him, placing a knee in the small of his back while she pulled his arms behind him and applied her handcuffs.
Kate rolled over into a sitting position, then slowly got to her feet. She was out of breath and her right knee was an electric knot of pain. She looked around and saw that a small crowd had watched it all go down. One of the bystanders was a young boy, watching things unfold with wide eyes and a huge smile.
“I don’t enjoy running when I don’t have to, Mr. Redman,” DeMarco said as she hauled him up to his feet. She, too, had noticed the small crowd gathering around. With a rather embarrassed look on her face, she eyed Kate and asked: “You okay?”
“I will be. Just dinged my knee pretty bad.”
This was true, of course. But the little spike of pain that refused to go away had her slightly worried. She’d injured the same knee while on duty in her thirties—nothing serious, just a little sprain and tear—and she thought it possible she had aggravated the old injury.
DeMarco gave her an uncertain look, as if she wasn’t buying it. But she said nothing. She only gave Redman a little nudge, pointing him in the direction of the area where they had parked the car.
“Come on, Mr. Redman,” DeMarco said. “Let’s head to the police station and have a little talk.”
DeMarco ushered him on while Kate walked on behind, doing her best to hide the slight limp as she walked.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sheriff Armstrong did not seem all that surprised to see Matt Redman being led into the station. She was on the phone when Kate and DeMarco entered; Kate could hear her speaking to someone about getting a police record on one of the agents who worked for Crest Realty. Armstrong finished up the call as quickly as she could and then fell in behind the agents as they marched Redman down the hall toward the interrogation room.
“Jimmy!” Armstrong yelled, calling to what Kate was starting to assume was the most reliable officer on the Estes PD other than Armstrong herself. “Pull the file on Matt Redman and bring it to interrogation.”
A faint “On it” came in response from elsewhere in the building.
Together, the three women filed into the interrogation room. Redman didn’t have to be asked to take a seat; he seemed to be familiar with the scenario. He slowly made his way behind the tale and when he sat down in the chair, he did so with a hateful glare cast toward them.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Redman,” Armstrong said, glaring right back at him.
“He a regular?” DeMarco asked.
“He was for a while. But he hasn’t graced this station with his presence in about two years now. He’s on probation for assault, if my memory serves correct. You want to fill in the facts, Mr. Redman?”
“You’d love that, huh?” he asked. He then stared down Kate and DeMarco. “My ex-girlfriend and I got drunk one night a few years ago. Got into an argument and I hit her. Twice. I’m not proud of it, but it happened. But in small towns like this, it’s just as bad as murder. It sticks with you. You’re a woman abuser for life.”
“And the petty theft?” Armstrong added. “You want to tell them about that, too?”
“I paid that fine,” Redman spat.
“Doesn’t mean it w
ipes it from your record.”
As if on cue, a knock came to the door and Jimmy stepped in. He handed a file folder out, insure of who to hand it to. Kate took it and opened it up, finding three forms and a photograph of the right brow of Matt Redman’s ex-girlfriend. It appeared that at least one of the punches he’d thrown had been a powerful one. She checked out the forms and handed the folder over to DeMarco.
The stealing changes were indeed minor…at first. Just petty theft: stealing inexpensive tools and pipe work from construction sites in the area. But, given the locales of the recent murders, that type of theft actually meant much more. Kate found herself looking at Redman’s shoulders and arms. He did not have the build of a huge man, but he had biceps and shoulders that told the tale of years of manual labor.
He’d certainly be strong enough to haul a woman up by her neck with the use of a makeshift noose.
“Want to tell us why you recently lost your job with Mulligan Movers?” Kate asked.
“I didn’t lose it,” Redman said. “I quit.”
“Any reason why?”
“Because Jack—the owner—is a dick. He didn’t pay enough.”
“He described you as being a hard worker.”
“I am a hard worker.”
“Not too hard,” DeMarco said. “The way we hear it, you’ve quit three jobs in the past year or so.”
Listening to DeMarco, Kate started to stitch together something of a profile. And with each stitch she placed along the seams, the more promising of a suspect Matt Redman became. He did not stay at one job for very long and he had a history of stealing from job sites. More often than not, this indicated that he likely stole from the people he worked for and then moved on before his transgressions were discovered. More than that, his work history gave him at least a rudimentary knowledge of how homes were built and sold.
“It’s all shit work, that’s why,” Redman said.
“Maybe you’d find better work if you stuck with an employer for more than a few months,” DeMarco commented.