Deadly Target (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 6)

by Renee Pawlish

  Her smile grew wider. “I worked yesterday, and I can tell you that Mr. Ridley was here. He and his wife came in about six, and they were with another couple, the Fredricksons. They had drinks, dinner, and then dessert and after-dinner drinks. They were here for quite a while.”

  Ernie looked at her. “Are any servers here now that were here last night?”

  Now she hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes, Jesse waited on them. Would you like to talk to her?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She turned to walk away, and Ernie followed her. He sure as hell didn’t want her to have time to coach anyone about answers. She glanced over her shoulder at Ernie, but didn’t say anything. They walked back toward the kitchen, and when a petite woman with short blond hair came out of the swinging doors, the maître d’ waved a hand pleasantly at her.

  “Jesse, do you have a moment?”

  Jesse was all business. She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over. “Yes, what do you need?” She glanced at Ernie.

  “This gentleman is inquiring about the Ridleys. You served them last night?”

  The server looked to the manager, then at Ernie. “Yes, they were here last night. They come in a couple of times a month, and they had the Fredricksons with them.”

  “By any chance do you remember what the Ridleys had to eat?” Ernie asked.

  “Mr. Ridley usually orders the ribeye cap, and he did last night, with griffin potatoes, and vegetables.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “And … I believe Mrs. Ridley ordered the Chilean Sea Bass, although sometimes she has the salmon.” She eyed him curiously.

  It was what Ridley had told him. Ernie was impressed with Jesse’s recall, and it didn’t come across as if she’d tried to memorize something. It sounded as if she did wait on the Ridleys often, and she remembered them. An impressive talent for a server to have, one he was sure garnered her excellent tips.

  “Is there anything else you need?” the maître d’ asked.

  Ernie held up a finger. “And how late did they stay?” he suddenly said to Jesse.

  She thought for a second. “I guess it must’ve been about nine or so. They stayed for a long time, but they tip really well so it doesn’t bother me.”

  Ernie had what he needed, so he thanked them both for their time. They both smiled hesitantly as he turned and left. As he was walking to his car, he mulled over the conversation with them. He had a pretty good gauge for lying, and neither Sarah or Jesse were registering on it. It seemed as if Lawrence Ridley’s alibi was good. As Ernie got to his car, his phone rang. It was Spats.

  “What are you up to?”

  Ernie stared at the hotel, feeling frustrated. “I just verified Lawrence Ridley’s alibi.”

  “Oh, man,” Spats said. “So you had a chat with him. How was that?”

  “He’s as oily as ever.” Ernie unlocked the car and got in. “I’m not sure about him. He was careful in what he said, and his alibi is good. He could’ve hired someone to try to kill Sarah.”

  “He has the money for it.”

  “He sure does.”

  “Tell me something,” Spats said. “Have you heard the name Shrimp?”

  “Shrimp? A nickname?”

  “Yeah, for a drug dealer.”

  Ernie thought for a second. “It’s not ringing a bell.”

  “Cody Sheen and his roommate, Austin O’Neil, were buying from this guy. Austin says Cody owed Shrimp money. Caitlyn Sheen says Austin was in trouble with Shrimp. I just got off the phone with a detective – McNair – who works with drug crimes and gangs. He’s heard of Shrimp, says he hangs around the 7-11 on Colorado Boulevard and Bruce Randolph, and that’s where Caitlyn says she went with Cody when he bought some drugs.”

  “Cody took her with him?”

  “Yeah. She stayed in the car.” Spats growled. “Not like that matters. If there was trouble, who knows what might’ve happened to her. Anyway, I’m going with McNair to see if I can find Shrimp.” He gave Ernie a rundown of his conversations with Austin O’Neil and Caitlin Sheen. When he finished, he said, “If Austin and Cody owed this guy money, I could see Shrimp taking Cody out. Shrimp sounds like a crazy dude.”

  Ernie drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. “Yeah, but shooting Cody from across the street like that? That doesn’t seem like a drug dealer MO. I’d see someone like Shrimp doing a drive-by, or just beating the crap out of him.”

  “Yeah, I know. And we still have no connection from Cody to Sarah and Nick Armistead. So … what have you heard from Oakley?”

  Ernie glanced at the dashboard clock. A little after two. “He suspects Nick was having an affair with one of the neighbors.” He told Spats about his conversation with Oakley and finished with Rachel Armistead’s friend, Julie Novack.

  “Sheesh.”

  “Yeah, right. He’s going to follow up with Julie. He’s also checking with a business near the gym that has some video surveillance.”

  “If Armistead and the neighbor were having an affair, that puts a different spin on things. The wife – Rachel – hires somebody to kill them, then plays a good act for us?”

  Ernie thought about that. “I could potentially buy it, but having him shot right in front of her? I don’t know about that. If she wanted to see that happen, that’s one cold broad.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  “Tara looked through Sarah’s laptops and her phone. Nothing so far, no strange phone numbers.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Hey, I’m almost to the 7-11. I’ll see what I stir up with Shrimp. If you think of anything, you let me know.”

  Ernie ended the call with Spats and called Oakley. He answered after two rings.

  “Hey, I was just going to call you,” Oakley said. “I finally got hold of Julie Novack. She said she’d be home in about half an hour. Are you tied up, or would you like to talk to her with me? I’d like to get your impression of her.”

  “Yeah, I’m just chasing down alibis. I could use a change of pace. Besides, I’d like to see for myself how this woman acts.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you there. He gave Ernie the address and ended the call.

  Ernie pulled his car onto Broadway, turned east on Colfax, and was soon pulling up in front of Julie Novack’s house. It was a small ranch in the Alamo Placita neighborhood. Ernie looked down the street to Rachel Armistead’s house. The two-story red-brick was quiet, the curtains closed, no cars parked in front. He wondered if she was home, and how she was handling everything. He thought he would stop by to talk to her when he finished with Julie. Ernie sat in his car, and a few minutes later, Oakley pulled up in his car. He got out and joined Ernie on the sidewalk.

  “Thanks for coming,” Oakley said as they strode up the walk. “See what you think about Julie’s reactions.”

  Ernie pointed at Julie’s front door. “Let’s hope this leads somewhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  East Thirty-fifth Avenue near Colorado Boulevard, in northeast Denver, was where Caitlin Sheen said that she and Cody had come the night he’d bought drugs from Shrimp. That also matched with what Cody’s roommate, Austin, had said. Spats had done a little research, and he’d found a rap sheet for Shrimp a mile long. He had multiple drug possession charges, a few petty thefts, and some domestic violence charges. A lot of hard living for a man who was only twenty-three. Spats was also able to get Shrimp’s jail photo, so he had a good idea who he was looking for. In the photo, Shrimp had long spiky hair, dark skin, and contrasting hazel eyes. He also had tattoos on his neck, and a small tattoo of a knife blade with blood dripping on it near his left eye. Not a place Spats would ever want a tattoo. At the station, Spats had shed his suit and black shoes, and had changed into jeans, tennis shoes, a black T-shirt, and a nondescript jacket. He drove down Colorado, past the 7-11, then turned on East Thirty-sixth and went around the block. He parked his sedan on Harrison Street, where he could see the 7-Eleven down the street. The neighborhoo
d wasn’t the greatest, some gang graffiti painted on the side of the 7-11, the houses and apartment buildings in the neighborhood somewhat rundown. Spats watched the 7-11. A few kids loitered outside of the store, then two of them went inside and returned a moment later with some kind of snacks. They hung out near the side of the building, eating and talking, then they finally walked down the block and disappeared. After fifteen minutes, Spats drove to a spot on the other side of Colorado Boulevard, but still where he could see the 7-11. Traffic whizzed by on Colorado, and several cars drove in and out of the 7-11 parking lot. After another ten minutes, his time was rewarded. Shrimp emerged from an alley on the side of the 7-11, accompanied by a skinny white man with long blond hair. They talked for a minute, then bumped fists, and the blond man sauntered away.

  Shrimp went into the 7-11, came back out with a bottle, and returned to the alley entrance, where he stood near a rickety wood fence and drank the soda. Spats watched him, and in less than fifteen minutes, he saw three drug exchanges. Spats had no idea what Shrimp was selling, but he didn’t appear particularly worried about getting caught. As he watched Shrimp, two men walked past Spats’s car. One, a lanky man with short black hair and baggy jeans, turned to look around. He locked eyes with Spats for a moment, then turned away. Spats knew that he’d been spotted, but he was okay with it. He’d see how things would play out.

  The two men crossed Colorado Boulevard and walked into the 7-11. Spats was sure that the lanky man had signaled to Shrimp, but Spats kept watching. After a moment, Shrimp left his spot at the alley entrance and walked into the 7-11.

  “A rendezvous, and I’m the topic of conversation,” Spats thought to himself.

  A couple of minutes later, Shrimp came back out of the 7-11. He was alone. This time, he didn’t have anything on him, no snacks or soda. He sauntered to the corner, then went to the alley entrance and looked across Colorado Boulevard toward where Spats was parked. After a minute, the other two men came out of the store, went around the other side of the building, and disappeared. When Spats looked back to the alley entrance, Shrimp was gone.

  Spats narrowed his eyes and thought how he should play it. He didn’t want to confront Shrimp if his pals were around, but he also needed answers. Finally, Spats got out of the car, locked it, and walked casually to the street corner. He waited for the traffic light, crossed Colorado, and walked by the 7-11. As he did so, he looked for the other two men. They were nowhere to be seen. He walked past the parking lot and stepped cautiously into the alley. It was after three, but a taller building behind the 7-11 cast a shadow on the alley. Spats listened. The traffic noise on the busier streets dulled any sound he might’ve heard in the alley.

  Spats headed down the alley, eyes and ears alert, muscles tensed for anything. He stepped past some beer bottles, then heard a noise on the other side of a dumpster. He put his hand in his coat pocket, where he had a gun, and carefully approached. As he peeked around the side of the dumpster, he saw an old man leaning against the side of it. The man glanced up at him, but didn’t say anything, too out of it to care. Spats moved on, and when he came to the end of the alley, he saw an abandoned building across Bruce Randolph Avenue. He crossed the street, glanced around, and dashed up to a door. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he might’ve seen movement at the corner of the building. He stepped inside, listened, and heard nothing. The place smelled of old dirt, a musty smell, and he wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t fond of all the dirt and grime on the floor, and he was glad he wasn’t in a suit and dress shoes. He walked down a short hall to a door that was cracked open. He pressed against the wall and listened. He thought he heard traffic noises. He pushed the door open, stepped into the room, then heard a voice behind him.

  “What the hell you doing following me?”

  Spats slowly turned around to face Shrimp. Up close, he looked older than his jail photo, already with wrinkles feathering the corners of his eyes. His nose was crooked, an apparent break that hadn’t been properly fixed, and his eyes danced dangerously. Spats looked at him and made sure he held his hands away from his sides, where Shrimp could see them.

  “Just the man I’ve been looking for,” Spats said.

  Shrimp’s eyes narrowed. “What you want, sucker?”

  Spats saw a revolver in Shrimp’s hands, held a little too tightly. Shrimp had an itchy trigger finger. Spats could smell cigarette smoke and a heavy cologne on Shrimp, and could see that his eyes were dilated and bloodshot. Spats wondered if he was high – making him even more dangerous – so he proceeded cautiously.

  “I need to talk to you about Cody Sheen.”

  Shrimp stared at him. “Who’s that?”

  Spats described him. “He and his friend, Austin, buy from you. You know them, a couple of nice college boys, too stupid to know better than to get mixed up with someone like you.”

  “Like me?” Spats let the statement speak for itself. Shrimp pointed with his revolver. “You think I’m gonna tell you about anybody?”

  Spats tipped his head, his eyes cold. “You better.”

  Shrimp gestured again with the revolver. “You a cop, ain’t you? I’m not gonna tell no cop anything.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “What you think I did, get in to some trouble? What are you looking for?”

  Spats knew he had to keep Shrimp talking. If he hauled Shrimp down to the station, he knew he wouldn’t get a thing out of him. Spats held his hands a little higher, palms toward Shrimp.

  “Cody was shot Monday night, and so were two other people. I’ll ask you straight up. Did you have anything to do with it?”

  Shrimp stared at him, then shook his head. “If I did, you think I’m gonna tell you?”

  “You don’t want to tell me now, I’ll take you downtown,” Spats threatened, even though he wasn’t sure he had anything to justify taking Shrimp anywhere.

  “No way.”

  “Then tell me where you were last night.”

  Shrimp grew wary, probably realizing that his afternoon could be ruined if he was pulled down to the station. “I had nothing to do with no shooting. I was hanging out here, in and out of the 7-11. You can ask Tony. He’s working there now, and he was there last night. He’d remember me.”

  “What do you know about Sarah Spillman, or Nick Armistead?”

  His confusion was real. “I don’t know who they are.”

  Spats smiled without humor. “What about your two friends?” He looked around. “They’re around here somewhere, aren’t they? The tall guy and his friend.”

  Shrimp looked a little surprised; he hadn’t been as clever as he’d thought, his friends spotted. “Yeah, man, and maybe they gonna come here and help me mess you up. People call me crazy.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  Shrimp held up the gun. “Yeah, so you better be careful. Maybe I want to take me down a cop.”

  “Yeah, me too.” The lanky man materialized behind Shrimp and smiled, exposing a big gold tooth. He pointed a gun at Spats.

  “Yo, Paulie,” Shrimp said.

  Paulie came into the room and stared at Spats. “Whatcha want with us?”

  Spats pointed at Shrimp. “Just a word with him.”

  “Shrimp’s crazy,” Paulie said. He narrowed his eyes. “And so am I. We gonna mess you up.”

  “I don’t think so.” A beefy man with a goatee suddenly appeared behind Paulie. Spats had talked to Detective McNair about how to handle Shrimp, and McNair had agreed to back up Spats. Spats gave McNair a quick nod, and McNair pointed his Glock at Paulie. “Keep your hands where I can see them.” Then he nodded at Shrimp. “And drop your gun.”

  Paulie twirled and glared at McNair and held his hands up. “You asking for it.”

  McNair shook his head slowly. “Don’t do anything dumb.”

  Paulie stayed still. Shrimp, however, seemed to be living up to his reputation for crazy. He held his gun higher. Spats shook his head, wary, but not afraid. Shrimp took a step toward him, and Spat
s grabbed his wrist and yanked Shrimp toward him. A quick twist, and Spats shoved Shrimp against the wall. The gun dropped to the floor, and Spats kicked it away. Then he pinned Shrimp against the wall. Shrimp swore at him.

  “What problem did you have with Cody Sheen?” Spats asked.

  “Who’s Cody?” Shrimp grunted.

  Spats pushed on his head, just enough to get his attention. Shrimp squirmed. “The college kid. He was buying from you. Did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t have no problem with him. It was the other one. Austin.” He swore again. “He tried to screw me over. You want to screw me over, you better think twice. But don’t you worry, I sent him a message. He knows he better not mess with me.” He squirmed to get away.

  “All right, relax,” Spats snapped. “So what did you do, come after Cody to scare Austin?” His mind flashed to Sarah, and he grew angrier. “You better tell me the truth! What were you doing last night? Did you shoot Cody, then shoot some other people to throw us off, just because you were pissed off?”

  Shrimp struggled against the grip, but Spats was strong, and he’d dealt with worse punks than this. He pulled up on Shrimp’s arm, just a tad.

  “Nah, man, I didn’t do nothing!” He turned his head, tried to look at Spats. “All I did was smack Austin around. He ain’t gonna cheat me. I didn’t have any problems with the other guy.”

  Spats finally let him go. He ran a hand over his hair and drew in a calming breath.

  Shrimp slumped against the wall, then turned around and glared at Spats as he rubbed his wrist. “You didn’t have to do that, man.”

  Spats shook his head. “Of course I did. You wouldn’t tell me anything otherwise.”

  Shrimp looked at McNair, then back at Spats. “You gonna let us go?”

  Spats spoke slowly, with emphasis. “You better be telling the truth, or you will regret it.”

  Spats wasn’t the tallest guy, but he could carry himself with threat. Shrimp seemed to sense that. McNair backed up and lowered his gun, and Shrimp glanced at his own gun on the floor.