Unidentified Flying Suspect (Illegal Alien Book 2)

by Carrie Harris

  “The bomb squad is still on scene and currently assessing the device, and we’re running a complete sweep of the grounds as we speak. I want that security hole located and plugged. We’re increasing security overall, and I’m putting SWAT on ready status. We are not in a crisis situation yet, and I intend to keep it that way. If we see any signs of these assholes, you will put them down. Tasers please, because I want someone to question. And I want detectives on the scene to point our search in the right direction. If it’s some lowlife with a grudge, you tell me. If it’s some whackjob with terrorist sympathies, we’ll have to call in the feds.” She sighed. “Which is annoying as hell, but we’ll make do. Suffice to say that I want to know what the hell is going on, and I want those answers yesterday. You hear me?”

  None of us moved a muscle. After a moment, she gave a satisfied nod.

  “That’s what I thought. Sergeant Scorsone is coordinating our response, so any questions or requests for resources go through him. We want to know the moment you learn something, and that moment needs to be soon. Now, move.”

  We moved all right. We moved our asses, and not just because we were all scared shitless of Commissioner Gordon. We moved because Toledoans were in danger, and we were the first line of defense. At times like this, I was all too conscious of the oath I’d sworn, and from the grim and determined faces of the people around me, I wasn’t the only one.

  CHAPTER 6

  After the Commissioner’s briefing, I barely managed to stand up and straighten my collar when Scorsone approached me. His face looked even more tense than it had when he’d come to my desk, and his wispy white hair now stuck out in agitated corkscrews. It looked like he hadn’t slept a wink the night before, but I couldn’t chalk it up to the current crisis. The device had only been discovered ninety minutes ago. I arched an inquiring brow, and he crooked a finger at me, pulling me aside.

  I glanced at Hardwicke. His expression tightened as he looked from Scorsone to me, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “I’ll bring the car around to the door.” Then he turned his back on me before I could respond. So we weren’t exactly buddy-buddy, but as long as he didn’t try to run me over with the car, I’d take it.

  “What’s up?” I asked Scorsone, pitching my voice low.

  The room was clearing quickly since we all had urgent tasks to attend to, but the fire and EMS reps still stood within earshot. They seemed engrossed in their conversation, but you could never be too cautious.

  “I’m sorry about Hardwicke,” Scorsone said. “I know I promised to warn you before giving you a partner.”

  “Right now, it’s moot,” I replied. “But I fully intend to bring it up with you once this situation is resolved. At length. In writing.”

  He offered me the barest of smiles. “Try if you want, but Dr. Boudina and I agree that it’s the best course of action. The drama between the two of you is interfering with department chemistry, and it’s affecting both of your work. I expect you to resolve it.”

  “That’s about as likely as me showing up to work in a fucking ball gown and dancing around with little birdies flitting around my head like a Disney princess, but let’s set that aside for now. I want Sheila Focht.”

  He blinked at the sudden change in conversation topic. “What?”

  “Sheila Focht. I noticed we didn’t have any of the crime scene techs in the briefing. I’d like to call her to the scene.”

  “Running prints isn’t going to do you a bit of good, Audrey,” he explained patiently. “The site is just too big. Haven’t you been to the airfield? We’ve got the immediate area covered in terms of tech support, and we’re already running personnel files on all the employees. They’re screened before they’re hired, of course, but we want to be sure they didn’t miss anything. We’re looking big picture here.”

  “I don’t want her to process samples, although her presence will be handy if we find any. I want her there because she’s got a good eye for detail, and the site is huge. If we’ve got no leads on who this person is and how they got in, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. It’s too big for me and Hardwicke to run on our own. I’m not sure one set of eyes will make a huge difference, but…” I frowned thoughtfully. Something had been nagging at me, and now it surfaced. “It seems like Gordon’s making a real effort to keep this quiet. All the closed doors. The small briefing. If she wanted it solved quickly, why doesn’t she throw every resource we’ve got at this thing? Particularly if it’s some kind of newfangled bomb. Shouldn’t we be going big here? Isn’t this…weird?”

  He scowled. “You’re preaching to the choir there. Gordon’s more concerned with the media fallout than she is with the potential danger to the populace. I think her position is on shaky ground, and she’s too busy covering her ass to actually do her job. I’ll continue to push things on my end, but I can’t make any promises.”

  “I love politicians.”

  We both rolled our eyes.

  “I should be able to get you Sheila, and maybe one of her assistants. It’s not an unreasonable request. And really, the small profile does have its advantages. We might be able to avoid scaring off our culprit if we keep it small. You and Hardwicke get out there ASAP and find out who did this before the politicians get people killed.”

  I still didn’t like the phrase “you and Hardwicke,” but I liked the potential that it might rain bits of people even less. Hardwicke and I would have to learn to work together, at least in the short term. After that, we’d see.

  “Will do,” I said, making for the door. I didn’t get more than a few steps before Scorsone interrupted me one last time.

  “And Audrey?” he said. “Promise me you’ll honestly try to mend things with Hardwicke. If you two don’t manage to kiss and make up, I’m going to have to transfer one of you.”

  I gaped. My seniority should have protected me, but he hadn’t said, “I’ll have to transfer Hardwicke, because you’re the senior officer.” Or even, “I’ll have to transfer Hardwicke, because you and I have a history together, and I’ve got your back.” Questions rose to my lips, but I couldn’t force them out. I just nodded, tried to ignore the lump in my throat, and took off before I could say something I’d regret.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hardwicke drove one of the cars from the detective pool, a vaguely brownish sedan that looked like it belonged on a 1990s late night basic cable cop show. Our department mechanics kept our vehicles in meticulous repair, but the years still showed. As far as cars went, it was ridiculously uncool. Plus, while the long-bodied monstrosity might have been nondescript while I was in college, now it might as well have “cop car” spray painted on the side. It looked like the kind of vehicle that only a cop would be caught dead in, although hopefully our trip wouldn’t involve actual expiration on one of our parts. I felt incredibly conspicuous driving down the street in it, but at least we weren’t trying to go undercover. That kind of shit would have gotten us killed.

  I barely managed to close the door behind me before Hardwicke pulled away from the curb. He didn’t put up the bubble light but drove with aggressive speed, passing whenever the opportunity presented itself. Even if that meant risking near vehicular death. I could tell by the tightness of his jaw that he was stressed, either because of how long I’d left him waiting in the car or by our assignment in general. Or maybe the fact that he hated breathing the same air as me. Who knew? I needed to break the ice if I was going to make it through this car ride without punching his face, and if I didn’t smooth things over, I might end up as a meter maid in Kankakee. Problem was, smoothing things over wasn’t exactly my forte.

  “I can take point on the paperwork when we get back to give you time to move into your new desk space,” I offered awkwardly. “I imagine we’ll be putting in some long nights, and I’m sure it would be nice to have some space to put your feet up.”

  He grunted.

  “You don’t say?” I responded, unable to contain myself. “I couldn’t have put it better myse
lf. In fact, that was probably the most profound statement I’ve heard all day.”

  “You’re not as funny as you think you are, Audrey.”

  “That still gives me a lot of wiggle room. I think I’m fucking hilarious.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  We fell silent again, and for a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the overworked air conditioner. The weather had entered the hot and humid phase of summer, and if I’d been vain about my hair, I would have been pissed, because it wilted in all the wet along with everything else. The air conditioner didn’t so much cool the air, but at least I felt like I wasn’t gargling melted Jell-O every time I took a breath.

  The air field sat on the complete opposite side of town as the precinct, and I didn’t often head out in that direction. I didn’t know anyone who lived there; the shopping wasn’t much different than my neighborhood, and it wasn’t our territory, work-wise. At least, not normally, but our department took point on large scale city events like the air show since we had the biggest and most experienced staff. With that in mind, I knew the drive would be a long one, and I couldn’t stand the tension. I tried again, going for a neutral topic this time.

  “So did you hear about my bowling pin murder?” I asked. “Bug and Sheila are thinking of writing an article about it for some journal or another.”

  He sighed, loud and hard, and I figured he wasn’t going to respond at all. But he surprised me.

  “Look,” he said, in the kind of even tones that make it obvious the person talking is trying to hold their temper, “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to look at you. I’d rather scoop out my intestines with a rusty spoon than work with you, but Scorsone has made it obvious that if we can’t peacefully coexist, he’s transferring one of us. And I don’t want it to be me. So I’ll work this case with you, and I’ll do it by the book. But don’t expect me to run skipping through fields with you hand-in-hand, because it isn’t going to happen.”

  I opened my mouth, and a smartass comment about how it would be impossible to find a field to skip through while we were on a highway bridge almost managed to escape. But I restrained myself just in time. Fine, then. We would follow the letter of the law at the very least, and if Scorsone wasn’t happy with the results, he’d have to give Hardwicke a direct order that involved skipping about and singing tra-la-la, or whatever.

  Still, I wasn’t about to sit around with my thumb up my ass just because Brad Hardwicke didn’t like my face. I had plenty of work to do, and he seemed like he would probably get us to the airfield without driving us off a cliff on accident. Not that Toledo sported many cliffs to drive off, but I didn’t make it a policy to underestimate a man in a snit. But although he was driving angry, it seemed safe enough for me to turn my attention to work, so I pulled out my phone and started composing an email to Sheila, requesting the various reports I’d need to complete my bowling pin related paperwork and get it off to the DA. As I laboriously thumbed the email into my cell, I thought about the mysterious “alien killer” email from earlier. I still had no idea what to do about it. I felt incredibly overwhelmed, and the day wasn’t half over yet.

  Then Hardwicke said, “What are you doing?” in a kind of preemptive way, like I wasn’t allowed to type in the passenger seat without advance written permission.

  “Did you change your mind about the skipping?” I asked. “Because that’s what I’m writing about. Skipping through fields. Singing. Other buddy-buddy activities.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested in being friendly. And I sure as hell am not interested in reporting to you, particularly since I was working this job while you were still chasing coeds around the frat house. So you’ll just have to deal with your curiosity, unless you’d like to remove your head from your rectum and ask me a polite question like the normal people do.”

  “You’re a bitch,” he said, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He sounded tired and broken. If I’d been in a better mind set, his tone of voice might have even made me think twice about why we were fighting, made me work harder to patch things up. But I was just as tired as he was, and I’d already had my fill of drama for the day.

  I sighed. “Yeah, well, you did a good job of driving me to it. And speaking of driving, we’re here.”

  I’d never been so happy to arrive to a destination in my entire life, and I’d once been stuck on an airplane for five hours next to a baby that kept throwing up so much that I thought it would go full on Exorcist at any moment. But this might have been worse. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, I threw open the door and stepped out into the humid air, breathing a sigh of relief.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Toledo Express Airport wasn’t a whole lot to look at. The two story building boasted only a handful of gates, and good luck finding food that didn’t come pre-packaged in plastic. Most of the major airlines flew out of Detroit, so the place usually only sported some puddle jumpers and commuter flights. I personally had never understood the logic of getting on a plane to fly to Detroit or Chicago when you could have driven there in practically the same amount of time, but some people didn’t like driving in the big city. Or maybe they had to ride with Hardwicke too, and they couldn’t stand him any more than I could.

  Now that the air show was in the process of setting up, the whole place bustled with unaccustomed activity. The usual commuter flights still ran from one place to another, but one end of the airport grounds had been cordoned off for use by the various stunt and historical craft that would fly at the show. They’d been flying in periodically throughout the past week so each pilot would have a chance to test out the runways and practice the meticulous flight patterns that would keep them all safe in the air. Patrons of the air show didn’t like to be kept waiting, so they usually packed the takeoff and landing schedule super tight. I’d worked security for the air traffic control tower a couple years during the air show, and the amount of lives they had to juggle made my job seem like a piece of cake. Even if you counted Hardwicke into the equation. With every moment I spent with him, I became more and more convinced that the man was a total cockwagon.

  The cockwagon in question had pulled to a stop outside the restricted area, which was a smart choice. Although a lot of traffic went in and out of those gates, we still didn’t want to risk missing or obliterating a piece of evidence because we couldn’t get our lazy asses out of the car. Plus, I wanted a chance to talk to the people on the ground and verify the Commissioner’s story. Based on what Scorsone had said, I didn’t feel confident in her priorities. Something about this situation didn’t add up, and I wasn’t sure whether to chalk that up to carelessness or corruption. I hoped for the former but wasn’t going to hold my breath. Maybe the Commissioner hadn’t thought to ask the right questions, because she’d been all wrapped up in covering her own ass. I’d fix that problem pronto. Asking the right questions was my job.

  The car door opened, and Hardwicke stepped out. Now he wore his business face, and he looked at me directly for the first time since we’d heard about the potential device. His handsome mug crinkled as he looked at me, like I was a glass of curdled milk. But he’d put his personal shit aside to get the job done, just like I would. He’d always been professional, except for that one night when he’d passed his rookie exams and we’d closed down a bar with a mechanical bull. It was a night that would have lived in infamy if we hadn’t taken a solemn vow not to talk about it in public. We’d been friends then, which was hard to believe now.

  “We should split up,” he said. “Device or witnesses?”

  Splitting up might seem like a poor procedural choice on the surface, but I felt outright relieved that I wouldn’t have to look at him. How such a grown man could act like such a baby, I didn’t know. But I flattered myself that I kept my distaste off my face as I responded.

  “I’ll take the witnesses,” I said. “I also asked Scorsone to send us Sheila as an ext
ra set of eyes. She could help ID the device too, if it turns out not to be explosive. Keep an eye out for her.”

  He nodded shortly. “Will do.” Then he turned to walk away, but his feet slowed before he made it more than a few steps. “And Audrey? If you find something, don’t pull your Lone Ranger shit. Come get me.”

  It was a mighty hypocritical thing to say given that he’d just suggested splitting up in the first place, but I kept my biting comment to myself in light of Scorsone’s threat. I glared at his back as he flashed his badge and asked the guards to direct him toward the device. He left in the direction they indicated without a second glance back at me, and I barely restrained myself from sticking my tongue out at his retreating figure. It wouldn’t have made the best impression on the guards I needed to confide in me.

  Instead, I took a moment to collect myself before approaching them. If someone had found a bomb-like device on the grounds where I stood guard, I would have been on edge. Worried that maybe the bad guys might come back and try again, that one of my coworkers secretly liked blowing people up for kicks and giggles, or that someone might try to pin the blame on me. Charging in and yelling at them would only make them clam up under those circumstances, and I wanted exactly the opposite. Bringing my Hardwicke related frustration into the mix would only make it worse. So I waited until my teeth stopped gnashing of their own accord and then made my approach.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, holding up my badge as I approached. “Detective Audrey Vorkink. I think you folks should be expecting me.”

  The four men on guard were uniformed cops but unfamiliar to me. One glance told me why—these were Perrysburg cops, from the suburb to the south. They wore identical expressions of determined aggression, as if they might scare off any potential ne’er-do-wells with the power of their glares. Then again, that kind of thing sometimes worked, although I didn’t look anything like a potential ne’er-do-well. I fell more into the middle aged woman with a height problem category.