“Sommer mentioned fearing for his safety. What if we offered up a safe house to him like we did for Snyder? In exchange, he’d have to give us information on the gang he was in.”
“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” she said and led the way back to the interrogation room.
Sommer lifted his head when they walked in. “I’m free to go?”
“You have information we want,” Madison stated.
Sommer looked away. “I asked for a lawyer.”
“What if we made you a deal?”
Sommer shrugged and made eye contact with her.
“You’re afraid for your safety. You talk, and we’ll ensure that safety.”
Sommer burst out laughing.
She formed fists with both hands. Maybe it was a good time to take up boxing. She had a little experience with it from physical training at the start of her career and hadn’t really loved it, but the idea of slamming blows into a punching bag sounded good right about now.
Madison stormed from the room and threw her arms in the air.
Terry came out after her. “We can’t make him talk, Maddy. And we don’t really have enough to hold him.”
She felt a coolness blanket her now. Did he think she didn’t know that already? It was just so frustrating. “Well, he told us something.” She aligned her gaze with her partner’s. “He’s not that afraid, is he?”
“I’d say no.”
“It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if he was still involved with his previous friends. Did you see how he looked when I referred to them as a gang?”
Terry nodded. “I did. He almost seemed proud.”
“So we need to figure out how he and this little gang factor into Barry’s shooting…”
“Yes, Maddy, but it’s not happening tonight. I’m headed home for some sleep. I’m going to hug both my girls and kiss my wife. You go home and get some rest, too.”
She nodded, and while she was happy for him, loneliness suffocated her. She’d be going home to an empty apartment, an empty bed. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time, and its eerie familiarity definitely wasn’t welcome.
-
Chapter 22
MADISON PLANNED TO PUT OFF going home as long as she could, and she figured she may as well try to accomplish something during that time. She started with reviewing Snyder’s file. For someone who claimed to be afraid to talk, Snyder had done a lot of it, but they’d had to work to get information out of her. What if she was still holding back? What if she wasn’t afraid because she simply recognized the shooter, or even because she recognized the decal? What if she actually knew the group—or gang—behind it?
If she did, Madison had to get her to talk. She signed out a department sedan and drove to the safe house where Snyder had been set up.
The place was a two-story, redbrick, turn-of-the-century house in a middle-income neighborhood. Madison showed her badge and was directed to Snyder’s room. She knocked, and Snyder answered wearing a cotton robe over a pair of plaid pajamas. Somehow seeing her like this made Madison view her more as Erica than Snyder.
“What are you doing here?” Erica asked. “I thought you got everything you needed from me.”
“Can I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?” Erica stepped back, and Madison squeezed between her and the doorframe. She didn’t understand why Erica was giving her attitude. She’d followed through and had gotten Erica the protection she’d wanted.
The room was on the claustrophobic side, even though the furnishings were minimal. There was a twin-size mattress and a night table, a desk with a chair, and a table with a hot plate and a kettle. There wasn’t any running water in the small room, and Erica had to share a communal bathroom.
Erica sat on the end of the bed.
Madison remained standing and closed the door behind her. “I’d like to talk to you more about that decal you saw.”
Erica took a heavy breath. “What about it?”
“Do you know what it stands for?”
Erica licked her lips and bit down on the bottom one.
Madison let the silence ride out until Erica broke it.
“A rebel flag and a goat’s head in a star?”
Madison stared at her and remained quiet. Erica’s eyes were giving her away.
“Fine. I know what it is and what it stands for.”
Why was everything with this woman like peeling away layers of an onion?
Erica continued. “The goat head in the star on its own stands for the sign of the Devil. This imagery, along with the rebel flag, was adopted by the Devil’s Rebels.”
“A gang?”
“As far as I’m concerned.”
“Do you know how many members they have?” Madison would ask Gangs about them, too, but she wasn’t hopeful.
“I couldn’t know for sure,” Erica answered.
Madison scanned her eyes. “But you have an idea.”
Erica shrugged. “They’re small. Maybe ten guys.”
“If people wanted to get in with them, is there some sort of initiation?” Madison asked even though they didn’t exactly seem to be the recruiting kind. Their circle seemed tight-knit, a handful of friends.
“Don’t know.”
“So do you know a Travis Sommer?” Madison tossed it out there as bait to see if Erica would nibble.
Erica’s eyes snapped to Madison’s. “Trav?”
To refer to him by abbreviating his name, they must have been close. “Do you have a romantic relationship with him?”
“No,” Erica punched out. “But I did years ago.”
Madison’s ears heated with rage. Trying to extract information from this woman was beyond frustrating. Madison could shake her.
“He’s the one I’m afraid of,” Erica told her then.
“Why didn’t you tell us this from the start? Did you know it was his place on Chestnut?”
“No, but I wondered… Trav has a way of finding things out. He’ll have me killed for talking. I’ve seen what he’s capable of.”
The information was coming fast now. For Travis Sommer to have her killed, it would mean he was a top player in the Devil’s Rebels. It would explain the pride in his eyes when Madison referred to the group as a gang. Maybe if Madison squeezed harder, got more out of Erica, she’d be able to gather the evidence that would get a criminal charge to stick to Sommer. But how did this tie into Barry’s murder? The sketch of the shooter didn’t resemble Sommer, and there was no connection between him and a BMW—at least not yet. But it could belong to another Devil’s Rebel…
She needed names, but she was after something else first.
“What did you see him do exactly?” Madison asked.
“I got to Trav’s place early one night.”
“When was this?” Madison interrupted.
“About two years ago.”
“Where did he live then? Still on Chestnut?”
“No. The other end of town.” Erica provided the street name and number. “We lost touch.”
“So you arrived at his place early…” Madison prompted.
“Uh-huh. A couple of his friends were there.”
“Names.”
“I only know one name.”
So much for getting a list out of her…
“Mike,” she said.
“Mike Godfrey?” Madison confirmed.
It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
“I only remember his first name.”
Madison recalled Godfrey’s DMV photo but appreciated that his characteristics could have changed from the time Erica knew him until now. “Dark hair to his collarbones, skinny, sunken cheeks?” she tried anyway.
Erica nodded. “Sounds like him.”
“What were they doing?”
“W
ell, there was yelling inside. I let myself in the back door and… I can’t get the images out of my head. Travis and the other two were beating on some guy. There was so much blood on the kitchen floor they were having a hard time finding traction, but it didn’t stop them from kicking him in the ribs and the head.” Tears fell down her cheeks.
“Were the police called?”
“I don’t know.”
Madison would look into the history of the property. “Did they kill him?”
Erica’s eyes were glazed over, and Madison snapped her fingers. She repeated her question.
“I…I don’t know. Trav told me I should never have seen what I had. He also said the guy was bad, ya know…” Erica was chewing on her bottom lip vigorously, and Madison wouldn’t be surprised if she made it bleed. Erica ran a hand down one arm, then the other. “The Devil’s Rebels have connections in the drug world. The guy they were beating was a dealer and had stolen from them.”
“You say you don’t know if they killed him, but they were still beating him when you left?”
Erica was shaking. “Travis shuffled me out the back door, and we went on a date.”
What the hell was wrong with some people? A guy was bleeding all over a kitchen floor, possibly barely hanging on to his life, and it was time for a steak and a movie?
“And you just went with him after what you saw?”
Erica wiped away a fresh batch of tears. “What else could I do? I was afraid. He told me to forget about what I had seen and if I ever talked about it…”
“He’d kill you?”
“Exactly.”
“Would you be willing to testify to what you had seen? If it came down to that.”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s one thing telling you, and another—”
“We’d get you into WITSEC. New identity, new place—”
“So essentially I’d be dead anyway,” Erica interrupted.
Madison could empathize with Erica’s frustration. She wouldn’t take to flipping her world upside down, either. But there was a larger picture to consider. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with us. If my sergeant realized this, I’m not sure he would have approved this.” Madison gestured around the room, implying the safe house as a whole.
“I don’t need this place.” Erica jutted out her chin. “I just wanted some protection. I feel like I’m in prison. Can’t you just assign officers to watch over me in my home?”
So that explained Erica’s prickly demeanor when she showed up…
Madison scanned Erica’s eyes, not sure what to make of her. She was scared for her life, but she was picky about how she was protected. She’d admitted to a previous relationship with Travis Sommer, but what if it wasn’t all in the past? It might not be a bad idea to give Snyder her way, get a detail to watch over her for a while and see what they could find out. She’d run it past Winston.
“Let me see what I can do.”
-
Chapter 23
MADISON WAS BACK AT THE station and brought up the history on the address Erica had provided for Sommer from two years back. The results were disheartening. And nonexistent. But she still had this feeling in her gut that the Devil’s Rebels required more attention, and she saw Snyder being released from the safe house as the perfect bait to find out just how much she knew and if she was still close to them.
She found Winston at his desk, stationed behind a barricade of paperwork—basically something that was synonymous with the man. He’d already been looking at the doorway when Madison had rounded the frame. His eyes were bloodshot, and bags shadowed them. His complexion was pale, too.
“Why are you still here?” Winston peered at Madison. “I guess I should know better.”
“Do you remember Erica Snyder?”
“The woman who provided the sketch for the shooter and who I put in a safe house?”
“That would be the one. And I actually need to talk to you about that safe house.”
Winston’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What about it?”
Maybe it was best she bring him up-to-date on Sommer and the Devil’s Rebels and then broach the subject of pulling officers from investigating Barry’s murder in order to babysit Snyder. “The decal on the shooter’s car is affiliated with a gang known as the Devil’s Rebels.”
“Where’s this information coming from?”
“Snyder. She thinks there are probably about ten members.”
“Why is this my first time hearing about them, then?”
“They must be good at not getting caught. Snyder has provided me the names of a few members, and she has told me that she witnessed a man being brutally beaten.”
Winston seemed interested now. His elbows were on the desk, and he leaned toward her. “Did this man die?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t know. I ran a background on the address where the assault supposedly took place, but it shows nothing. Oh, and Sommer is involved in her allegations. From what Snyder told me, he’s pretty high up the totem pole, though according to him, he left the gang a long time ago. But that’s not all… Snyder admits to a romantic relationship with Sommer and claims that it ended, but I have my suspicions.”
“Ah, I think I see where you’re going with this.” Winston steepled his fingers. “If we get her pulled from the safe house, we can put surveillance on her and see if Sommer comes around.”
“Correct.”
“So you believe they might be the gang behind the shooting?”
“It’s possible. I find it hard to ignore that their symbol was on the shooter’s car.”
Winston looked away, and there was something in his energy that told Madison he already had something in the works.
“What is it?”
Winston made eye contact with her, and the way he was studying her eyes conveyed he was impressed by her ability to read him. “Well it has nothing to do with these Devil Rebels, but we’ve got people in place listening to well-known gangs around the city.”
“Meaning?”
“Parabolic mics.”
“Has the name of a gang claiming responsibility come back, then?” Anger was growing in her belly, the thought of being left out of the loop gnawing on her.
“Not yet.”
“All right, well, do you really see a gang using another’s symbol? Because I don’t.”
“The BMW could have been stolen.”
“So? They’d have taken the decal off. Running with the seeming fact that a gang was behind this, they’d want to earn respect on the streets for the murder.” She picked up on how she’d really gotten into detective mode, detaching herself from the fact the man murdered had been her friend. “Besides, I’m not so certain the BMW used in the shooting was stolen. None were reported stol—” There was something there beneath the surface of her words, a clue… “Wait! While the shooter and driver didn’t seem too concerned about getting caught, they aren’t entirely stupid, either. They did take the plates off…” She made sure to look Winston in the eye when she continued. “If they stole the car, they wouldn’t have even worried about the plates. Why not let it tie back to the owner?”
“What are you thinking, Knight?”
“The car wasn’t reported stolen, so they must know the person who owns the car.”
“They stole it from a friend?”
“Or borrowed it. They could have used a friend’s or relative’s car—with or without their knowledge.” She might not have a list of Devil’s Rebels members yet, but she could start with the names she had—Sommer and Godfrey. For good measure, she could look deeper into Cousins’s family and Snyder’s, too. Then she could compare any of their relatives’ names and see if they matched up with any of the fifty people who owned the model of BMW they were after.
Winston seemed to literally gnaw on her hypothesis as he chewed th
e inside of his cheek. “I’ll get Snyder back home and put uniforms on her.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
Winston looked at the clock, and Madison followed his gaze. It was almost midnight.
“Now why don’t you go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
She nodded and went toward the door, acting as if she were going to comply with his advice when she certainly wasn’t planning to go home yet only to be alone.
-
Chapter 24
MADISON DROVE AROUND THE CITY, dreading the thought of going home to her apartment. Without Hershey there, and knowing that the man she woke up next to this morning was no longer a part of her life, left her with such a coldness in her chest that it was hard to breathe. And something about the darkness of night only made it worse.
She dabbed the tears that fell down her cheeks with a fingertip and found that more were coming faster than she could wipe them all away. She gave up and let them fall.
The traffic light ahead just turned orange, and she pressed the brake. As she waited for the green, she cried, her chest heaving as her lungs hungered for oxygen. Barry’s loss washed over her, as did her separation from Troy. She cursed herself for her vulnerability. Maybe her initial instincts in that area had been correct: if she exposed herself, all that would come of it was a broken heart.
The light changed, and she accelerated, realizing that she was in her sister’s neighborhood. She glanced at the dash. One in the morning.
Madison shook her head. It was absurd that she was even thinking about dropping in. Chelsea, her brother-in-law, and her nieces would be fast asleep.
“Go home.” She said the words to herself, but they rang empty in the car, and she found herself turning into their driveway.
She turned off the car and stared at the house. Maybe she could just sleep in her Mazda tonight…or this morning. It wouldn’t be long before the sun would be coming up anyhow. Five, maybe six hours.
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