Deadly Target (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 6)

by Renee Pawlish

  “Did you find out who she is?”

  “Her name’s Sarah,” Ernie said.

  “Oh, I don’t know her.”

  “You’ve never seen her around the neighborhood?”

  Garcia shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

  Ernie honed in on the earlier events. “What questions did the detectives ask you?”

  Garcia reached for a beer bottle on the table, then seemed to think he shouldn’t, and his hand dropped on the arm of the chair. “They wanted to know if I saw or heard anything, and I told them what I told you. Nothing.”

  “Think back,” Ernie said quietly. “Before the other witness, Michelle, started screaming, did you notice anything unusual?”

  Garcia stared at the floor. “No. I was thinking about something with work, that’s where my mind was at.” He rubbed his hands together. “I usually walk in the evening, right when I get home. It helps me relax after a long day.”

  Ernie nodded. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a tax attorney. I work at a firm downtown. I was actually thinking about a client I have, and some work I needed to do tonight.” He let out a wry laugh. “After what happened, I haven’t been able to do anything.” His gaze darted to the TV, and he watched a player sink a three-point shot. “I had the game on, some noise. I can’t seem to concentrate.”

  “That’s certainly understandable,” Ernie said. He leaned forward. “When you were walking on Severn, did you hear the shot?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing.”

  “So you didn’t notice anything, and then suddenly you heard Michelle yelling. What did you do?”

  “I turned around to see who it was. I saw Michelle. She waved me over to help with that woman. Sarah.”

  “Were any other people around?”

  “No.”

  “Anything unusual that you can recall?” Ernie repeated.

  “As far as I remember, there weren’t any cars passing by.” Garcia closed his eyes. “I think maybe there was a car parked on Grape Street, to the north.” His eyes opened. “Is that significant?”

  Ernie kept his face neutral. “It might be. Do you recall what kind of car?”

  Garcia shook his head. “I think it was a dark SUV. I can’t be sure.”

  “Was it there after the ambulance left?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. But with everything going on, it was crazy.”

  “I understand,” Ernie said. “Did Sarah say anything?”

  Garcia bit his lip. “No, she didn’t. She looked up at me, and her mouth moved, but I didn’t hear any words. She was … struggling to breathe.”

  Ernie clenched his jaw, both with anger at who’d done this to Sarah, and with fear for her life. He pushed those thoughts aside.

  “While you were trying to stop the bleeding, what did Michelle do?”

  Garcia pursed his lips. “After she called for help, I think she was telling the woman it would be okay, but I’m not sure. I was concentrating on stopping the blood flow. I know I told the woman to stay with us.” It was as if he didn’t want to use Sarah’s name. “I’ve seen that kind of thing in the movies, talking to a person who’s in distress. I don’t know if it helped or not.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Ernie murmured. “You didn’t see any other people around once the ambulance left?”

  “There were two officers there, and two detectives showed up. The detectives thanked me for helping out, and then I talked to one of them. I think his name was Hackman. He asked me what I remembered. I told him what I’m telling you.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you more. Then he gave me back my hoodie and said I could go. He said that someone else might stop by.” He glanced at the TV again. “That’s about it.”

  Ernie quickly assessed everything Garcia had told him, then continued. “When you passed by Sarah, did she seem worried? Did she act as if anything was wrong?”

  Garcia mulled on that. “I passed by her so briefly. She seemed maybe lost in thought, and she didn’t pay any more attention to me than I did to her. But if anything, she seemed happy.”

  That hurt to hear. “You’re sure you didn’t say anything to each other?”

  “Correct.”

  Ernie looked around. He didn’t see signs of another person being there. “You live alone?”

  “Yes, I’m divorced. My kids are grown.” Garcia breathed heavily a few times. “I still can’t believe this all happened.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” Ernie asked.

  “Yeah, I will.” Garcia pointed at the beer. “I might have another one, and I suppose I should get something to eat, although I’m not hungry. This whole thing has shaken me up. I’ll talk to some people about it, and I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He didn’t sound too sure.

  “Do you know Michelle?”

  “I’ve seen her out walking. We introduced ourselves one time, but I don’t really know her.”

  “Have you seen any strangers in the neighborhood, any unusual activity when you left your house tonight?”

  “Nothing like that. It was just another evening for me.”

  Garcia had told Hackman and Lattimore the same story. Ernie hid his disappointment. He couldn’t think of anything else to ask at the moment, so he stood up.

  “I appreciate your talking to me. I know it isn’t easy to go over what happened again,” Ernie said.

  Garcia got up as well. “It’s no problem. Do you know if that woman is okay?”

  “She’s in surgery.”

  “I hope you find whoever shot her.”

  Ernie stared at him. “Oh, we will.”

  Ernie stepped onto the porch and headed down the sidewalk. One witness down, one to go. He hadn’t learned much from Garcia. He hoped he’d glean more from Michelle Irwin.

  Chapter Six

  “How’s it coming along in here?” Spats asked an officer who stood just inside the entrance to Charlie’s Restaurant.

  A few of the waitstaff had congregated at the bar opposite the entrance. Spats felt several sets of eyes on him, and he noticed one woman shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Two couples were at tables in a corner, conversing in low tones. They were also watching Spats and the officer.

  “We’ve taken statements from everybody inside,” the officer said. “I’ll get all the statements rounded up and email you the reports.” The officer had a bulky chest, more pronounced by the bullet-proof vest under his shirt. “So far, only one person noticed anything out front, a woman who was sitting at a table by the window.” He glanced down at some notes. “She saw the victim smoking, but she didn’t notice anything else.”

  “Show me where she was sitting,” Spats said.

  The officer walked past some tables and stopped at one of the windows that faced the street. “She says she was sitting here,” the officer said. He pointed out toward the restaurant entrance, which was now illuminated solely by the lights on the side of the building. “And she saw the waiter out there.”

  Spats peered out the window and watched for a moment, then turned and stared toward the abandoned café down the street. He had sent the forensics team to the café, and light shone from the front windows. “Was anybody looking that way?”

  The officer shook his head. “Not anybody that we talked to.”

  Spats stepped back and looked at him. “Get me all the reports as soon as you can.”

  The officer nodded, and Spats followed him toward the door, but stopped at a nearby booth, where the manager of the restaurant was nursing a cup of coffee. Spats looked down at her with a sympathetic smile.

  “This sure as hell wasn’t what I expected when I came into work this evening,” she said. She pointed to the seat across from her. “Do you want to sit down?”

  Spats shook his head, choosing to lean against the side of the booth instead. “We’ve interviewed all the staff, and everyone who was in the restaurant at the time of the shooting. They can all go home.”

  She slowly ran a han
d through her brown hair. “That’s a relief.” She waved over the impatient woman, gave her the news, and watched her go back to the bar. A hum of conversation ensued, and a waiter went to talk to the two remaining couples. The manager looked back at Spats.

  “Once they all leave, am I okay to close up?”

  “Yes,” he said. “We may have more questions for you, so don’t be surprised if you get a call.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “May I see the surveillance video from out front?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Spats had her sign a paper saying she had voluntarily let him view the video, so it was clear he didn’t need a warrant. Then she led him into an office near the kitchen, queued up the video, and they watched the section when Cody was shot. Spats didn’t see an SUV drive by, but he couldn’t quite see the far traffic lane. He didn’t see anything suspicious. Cody had stood out front, smoking, and suddenly he fell to the ground.

  Spats thought for a second. “You didn’t see anything?”

  “No. I was in the back, then came out and didn’t see Cody. I know he goes outside sometimes for a quick smoke, so I went looking.” Her expression was pained.

  “Did Cody take a break at the same time each night?”

  She shook her head, stood up, and led him back into the restaurant. “His shifts varied, so his breaks would vary, too. If it’s busy, he might not get a break.”

  “Was there anybody here that Cody didn’t get along with?”

  She pursed her lips. “Just a waiter named Rob Fekete. They didn’t seem to like each other.” She glanced behind him. “But otherwise, people liked Cody.”

  Spats made a mental note to check all the interviews with the restaurant staff to see if anyone had a beef with Cody. Just then, the officer at the door returned, his face pinched with anxiety. He moved over to Spats.

  “I think you need to come out here,” he said abruptly.

  Spats glanced at the manager. “Excuse me.” He turned and followed the officer. As they approached the door, Spats heard yelling.

  “The victim’s father showed up,” the officer explained.

  Spats swore softly. “Oh great.” He stepped out to the sidewalk and looked to the right. Just past the crime-scene tape that had been strung up between a streetlight and the downspout at the end of the building, a man was arguing with another uniformed officer. The man motioned toward the restaurant, and even though the streetlight was somewhat dim, Spats could see his face was red. Spats smoothed his tie as he walked over to the two men.

  “I want to talk to someone!” the man said in a loud voice. “Where’s the manager?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said, “but it’s a crime scene, and …”

  “You’re talking about my son!” the man interrupted. “Let me in.”

  Spats stepped up to the crime-scene tape and showed his badge. “Sir, I’m Detective Youngfield. I’m in charge here.”

  The man jabbed a finger toward the sidewalk past Spats. “Then let me see what’s going on. That was my son!” His voice choked up.

  “May I have a word with you?” Spats lifted the crime-scene tape and ducked under it, at the same time blocking the man from moving past him. “Sir, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The man visibly shook for a moment, and Spats reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. The man took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Spats said.

  He straightened his shoulders. “Dave Sheen.” He coughed. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “I certainly understand that.” Spats stepped a couple feet away from the crime-scene tape, and Dave did as well. Spats glanced to the officer, who relaxed slightly.

  “As you can imagine, we have a lot going on here,” Spats said to Sheen. “I’m sure you want to talk to the manager, and I’d like to let you do that, but we do need to complete our investigation. It’s important in order to find out what happened to your son.”

  Sheen nodded the whole time Spats talked. “I don’t want to interfere, but nobody’s telling me anything.” He stared at the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “Is that where it happened? Is that Cody’s blood right there?”

  “We don’t have a lot of information right now,” Spats deflected the questions. He pointed toward the restaurant. “Your son came out for a quick smoke break, and someone shot him.” Spats looked farther down the street. “We think maybe from that building across the street.” The techs were busy inside, light still shining through the window.

  Sheen sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly. “Did he suffer?”

  “It was quick.”

  “Who did it?” Sheen asked.

  Spats shrugged. “At this point, we don’t know. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions?”

  Sheen’s eyes wandered to the café. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I was going to come visit you, to tell you what happened,” Spats said. “How did you find out?”

  Sheen ran a hand over his face. “One of Cody’s co-workers called my daughter and told her about Cody. We couldn’t believe it, but then an officer showed up and told us what had happened. He wouldn’t tell us any specifics, just that Cody had been shot and killed.” He put a fist to his mouth, then went on. “I wanted to come down right away, but my wife and daughter were so upset, I didn’t want to leave them. We called my wife’s sister, and I stayed until she arrived.”

  Spats put a gentleness in his tone. “Tell me about your son.”

  Sheen was silent for a moment. “Well, I hate to say it, but he’d struggled a little bit. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he was in a ton of trouble, but he did have some issues with drugs in high school, and it derailed him for a while. At one point, he was a good athlete, a track star, but once he started doing drugs, that stopped.” He looked toward the crime-scene tape, his mouth working as he thought about his son.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  He shrugged. “He was dealing drugs, and stealing, to pay for his habit.”

  Spats thought about that. “Had Cody crossed the wrong person, someone who might have had a reason to come after him now?”

  “I doubt it. He’d shoplift, then return the items for cash, things like that. Petty crime. At one point, I didn’t know if he’d graduate, but he pulled it together his senior year and did. Not with stellar grades, but he did all right. He enrolled at Metro, and he was working here.” He swiped at his eyes, and Spats knew there was more there.

  “And?”

  Dave cleared his throat. “To be honest, Cody and I didn’t always get along. My wife says that I pushed him too hard, and that I ultimately pushed him away.” He shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. All I can say is it was better that he moved out after high school. We still helped, though. We had an agreement with him, that as long as he was in college and kept good grades that we’d pay part of his rent. And he was actually doing pretty good.” He stared at the restaurant, then swore. “What the hell kind of person would shoot him? He was just getting it together.”

  Spats didn’t have an answer for that. “Was there anybody that Cody didn’t get along with?”

  Sheen thought about that. “He and I didn’t talk a lot about his friends, or a lot about what he was doing. He would just tell me if things were going okay in school.” A small smile crossed his face. “He hated working at the restaurant, but he liked the people here. And he was realizing, as I’d told him, that he needed to get an education and some kind of career if he didn’t want to stay in low-paying jobs the rest of his life. I guess maybe the old man was right.”

  Spats studied him. He wasn’t old at all, not much older than Spats, maybe mid-forties, with blond hair without a hint of gray.

  “You said he was in trouble in high school,” Spats said. “Is it possible he was in trouble now?”

  “Possible? I guess. You should talk to my wife. Cody might’ve told her more. But as far a
s I know, he was clean and sober, and he was doing all right.”

  “You said he lived on his own. Did he have roommates?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, his roommate is Austin O’Neil.” He gave Spats an apartment address on Grove Street, west of downtown. Spats jotted it down.

  “Was Cody in a relationship?”

  Sheen shook his head. “Not that I was aware of. But then again, he might not have told me.” He suddenly ran a hand over his face. “Where did they take him? When can I see him?”

  “An autopsy will be scheduled, probably tomorrow, but you can go to Denver Health, and they should be able to arrange something for you.”

  Sheen swore. “What’re they going to do to my son?”

  Spats waited a moment, then said, “Do you have any other kids besides Cody’s sister?”

  “No, just Caitlyn. She’s two years younger than Cody.”

  “I’d like to talk to her and your wife tonight, even if briefly.” Spats knew he could conduct a fuller interview the next day, but initial impressions were important – both the mother’s and Caitlyn’s of what had happened to Cody, and his own impression of them.

  Sheen sighed. “Please. Caitlyn is as upset as my wife.”

  “Just for a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” Sheen said. He gave Spats his address, even though Spats had it. Sheen slowly shook his head. “I just can’t believe this. I just …”

  Spats thought about that, and his mind flashed to Sarah. He couldn’t believe someone had tried to kill her, either.

  Sheen turned to another thought. “I want to talk to Cody’s manager.”

  “Sure,” Spats said.

  He offered his condolences again, then went inside the restaurant and told the manager that Sheen wanted to talk to her. On the way out, he turned to her.

  “Did Cody use drugs?”

  She was taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. “I hear rumors that the wait staff goes outside and gets high, but I never caught anyone.”

  Or she turns a blind eye, Spats thought. He wasn’t concerned about the other staff, though. “Cody?” he prompted.

  “Not that I’m aware of. One time he said that he’d gotten in some trouble in high school, and he was staying out of trouble now.”