“Max, her daughter Lana is outside with Whitney. Someone secure them, please.”
Whitney accompanied Lana and Elaine to Gwinnett Medical via the Gwinnett County Sheriff’s Department. I hung back to talk with Maxim, Gwinnett County Police, and the Gwinnett CSI on this case. Actually, they made me stay.
We were still at the crime scene. Terri, Sean, and two others were covered in sheets. One was a constituent who was in line to receive autographs of Elaine’s latest book, The New Southern Woman: A Political Perspective, and the other was her bodyguard. From what I’d learned so far six others were injured from either being trampled on or from ricochet pistol bullet wounds. All the local media were still instructed to wait across the street, including The Sentinel.
Maxim chatted with the CSI team and the medical examiner (ME). I snuck a peek at my photos of Sean’s wallet again. I had to share my theory with Maxim or I was going to explode.
“You need to put that phone away before they see you,” Maxim said as he walked over to me. “Considering your journalism background, they may confiscate it.”
“Good looking out.” I slid my phone inside my pocket. “Do you know what happened?”
“Obviously, it’s an assassination. I just shared some specifics about Sean’s involvement in last night’s nip-joint sting with the detective.” He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “If Rosary wasn’t dead before, she’s probably dead now.”
“Not if you get to her first,” I said.
“Angel, what are you talking about?”
I pulled my phone out and showed him one of the photos. “Remember when you received a bad tip that Rosary had taken a Greyhound to her family?”
He nodded. “And?”
“Do you also remember when I told you that Sean bails out Elaine’s constituents, so that probing eyes aren’t on her?”
“Come on with it, Angel.”
“Like you told me before, I didn’t ask the right questions. We didn’t think to ask Greyhound whether any tickets were bought in Sean’s name.” I pointed at the picture of the Greyhound receipt in Sean’s wallet. “Two tickets: one child, one adult. Destination: Brunswick, Georgia. Has to be Rosary and her baby. I bet she’s headed to her family in St. Marys.”
Maxim looked at me. His mouth was slightly opened. His eyes sparkled.
“We have to go now.” He took my arm.
“We can’t go.” I yanked my arm away from him. “You, Ty, and your posse can go and get her. I’m going home.”
“Rosary needs you, Angel.”
“No, Rosary needs to be protected before whoever just killed Sean finds her. I need to get home, hug my daughter, finish out my vacation, and prepare to be a bridesmaid in a wedding.”
“And don’t forget you have a date with Brother Boyfriend tonight.”
I ribbed him. “Stop with the surveillance, Maxim, and leave my man alone.”
“I’m sorry about that. But to be honest, I need you to leave all your loved ones for a few days.” He took off his hat and looked me in my eye. “Angel Crawford, I need you now.”
“I’m on vacation. . . .” I shook my head. “Please don’t do this to me.”
“I’m not trying to do this to you. It’s the truth, as bad as I hate to admit it.” He grinned. “You’ve been right all along and I believe you’re the only one who can find Rosary. We don’t have a lot of time to discuss this further. We need to get to the Georgia Coast.”
“What about the deputy marshal guy? Can’t he take it from here?”
“She’ll try, but she’ll succeed if you’re there, because you know the area and you know the shine community there.”
I squinted in surprise and shook my head. “What do you think you know about me?”
“I know about your Uncle Pete, Granny’s, apple pie shine . . . your dad.”
I turned away from him and closed my eyes for a few seconds to keep from trembling. “Uncle Pete can’t be a part of this plan, Marshal.”
He cleared his throat. “Maxim. I prefer Maxim.”
“Nope, I didn’t make a mistake.” I turned back toward him. “Marshal, while you were investigating me, you should have dug a little further, because then you would know that there was no way in hell I was going to talk to that man.”
“You don’t curse, Angel.”
“You don’t know me, yet you curse me by bringing his name up.”
“Come on, Angel. Part of being a good investigator is using what you know to get what you need. We need to stop this guy and you can. Break the curse by saving someone you can save. In fact, you would be saving two: Rosary and Lucia DiChristina. Isn’t this what you’ve wanted since I pulled you into this task force? To save Rosary and Lucia?”
A young woman with shoulder-length brunette hair that fell in ringlets walked toward us. She wore officer blues like the rest of the guys walking around, latex gloves, and disposable polyethylene overshoes. She carried two pairs in her hands, I assumed for me and Maxim.
Maxim handed me the overshoes. “Are you in or out?”
I snatched the overshoes out of his hands. “You make me sick.”
29
Friday, 2: 00 PM
Garden Ridge Retail Store, Norcross, Georgia
“Thank you. Now, hide that phone and those pictures of Sean’s wallet,” Maxim whispered, then turned toward the detective and grinned.
My chest tightened. I slid the phone back into my pocket.
“Angel, this is Officer Ramona Page. She’s the Gwinnett County Police Homicide Detective handling this case. She needs to ask you a few questions about what the scene was like when you arrived.”
Ramona stepped toward me and extended her free hand. “You’re the infamous Angel Crawford.”
“Oh, I hope not.” I shook her hand, while slipping on those overshoes with the other.
Detective Page had an accent more Southern than mine. A bit Appalachian unlike Amicalola Falls, but on the other side of the Chattahoochee Forest, more like Blue Ridge. She had a normal build and height, but possessed green eyes that pierced the sun. Sean would have fallen madly in love with her, if he could see her. I looked back at the hole in his face and sighed.
She handed me a pair of latex gloves and then smiled in a way that seemed heartfelt. “Ms. Crawford, my condolences regarding your friend. I know this is a troubling time for you and I appreciate so much that you have chosen to stick around. I know this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”
I placed the gloves on my hands while chiding myself for not having them on a few minutes before when I’d gone through Sean’s wallet, and I also prayed that my handkerchief rubbing had removed my fingerprints from the wallet. “Sean was more like a frenemy type, but he didn’t deserve to be killed. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m your girl.”
She nodded. “Good, because I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Can I ask you a question first?” I cleaned my hands on my pants, then shook her hands. “Is Congresswoman Turner okay?”
Detective Page nodded. “She’s pretty shaken up. Whoever this guy is he killed most of her team. We’re looking at possible suspects who may have it out for the congresswoman.”
“But this shooting had nothing to do with Elaine.”
Page folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “Why don’t you think so?”
“Because the congresswoman’s right-hand man was my informant,” Maxim said. “We raided a nip joint last night because of him.”
Page’s frown softened into a curious smile. “You as in Angel and you?”
He chuckled darkly. “Ms. Crawford is a part of my task force, Ramona. She’s a private investigator. Her story is long, but will give you the answers you need, and since it’s going to take you a long minute to process this building, perhaps Angel can give you the highlights. But don’t take too long. We’re going on a manhunt directly.”
Maxim’s cowboy shtick had returned, which meant he was getting into his element. I needed
to get into mine, but I needed to talk with my family first.
I leaned over to him and whispered, “Maxim, I need to go home first.”
“Then don’t be long winded.” He smiled at Detective Page. “Ladies, I need to make a few calls, gather the boys together, and take care of some things. Don’t worry. Detective Page is nicer than I am. You’ll like her. I’ll be outside where I need to be, so they can tag this place up.”
After I told Detective Page everything I wanted her to know she stopped her digital recorder and closed up her notepad. “You’ve been very helpful, Ms. Crawford.”
“So I’m free to leave? I need to see about my family.”
“You are. Thank you.”
Then she caught my jacket sleeve before I stepped away. “One thing. I hope I’m not being rude in asking, but what’s the deal between you and Marshal West?”
“Nothing.” I squinted at her and noticed a familiar twinkle in her eye. “You gotta crush?”
She blushed. “Who doesn’t?”
“For the record, I don’t.” I patted her shoulders. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Please do.” She smiled.
Someone spoke into her walkie-talkie.
“Um . . . Angel. Actually, you can’t go home just yet. There’s been a development.”
My stomach thudded. They must have found my print on Sean. I gulped.
“Am I in trouble?”
She patted my shoulder. “You’re not in trouble. As you know Marshal West is the senior inspector for the Southeast Regional Fugitive Task Force. They are the first call in this state for a major fugitive investigation. Just about every law enforcement branch in the state is a part of it.”
He is? “Of course, that’s why I need to get home. We have state stuff to do. We have to hunt down the shooter, whoever he is.”
“But according to the statement you just gave, you actually met the shooter.”
I frowned. “Can’t be. I only spoke to three people before you guys got here: a Korean gentleman, some guy who tried to keep me from coming in, and the bad-shot security guard.”
“Who?” She cocked her head. “Because the fourth victim covered up over there is the security guard.”
She pointed at another dead person hidden under a sheet. He wore black rubber sole shoes. My head began to throb.
“Who was I speaking with near the checkout counter?” I asked.
Detective Page shrugged. She looked at me in that way a veterinarian looked at you before she told you that your dog had to be put down. “Angel . . .”
“Do you mean to tell me that I had the shooter and I let him go?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid so.” Her face appeared as full of regret as I felt.
I felt light headed. I stumbled into her arms. “I need to get out of here.”
Detective Page escorted me out of the CSI technicians’ way, while they prepared the scene and to meet the rest of the U.S. marshal team in charge of this special fugitive recovery case. During our walk through the store she shared that Deacon West, my instructor and Maxim’s uncle, was one of the first African American U.S. marshals in Georgia. U.S. Marshal Services was the second oldest federal law enforcement agency in the country. They had wide boundaries and swept over many jurisdictions, apparently. Maxim was a bigger dog than he’d let on and I felt embarrassed for not being impressed by him earlier.
When we stepped outside the building I gasped.
Police presence at a crime scene always surprises me. Gwinnett Police had surrounded Garden Ridge. The parking lot was filled with white crime-scene-unit vans and white Ford Mustang cruisers. The officers on the scene wore crisp periwinkle cotton shirts and gray pants. Yellow crime scene tape had been put down. A few officers demanded that the press, yet again, move across the street where the old Shoney’s Restaurant and Inn used to be. I squinted when I thought I saw a familiar face over there, but it was too far to see.
Maxim ran over to me. “Are you okay?”
“A little woozy, but don’t worry; I’m not pregnant.” I chuckled. “I think I’m hungry.”
“I think you need to be checked out. You have had a very stressful day.” Maxim walked away and whispered something to Detective Page. I tried to read their lips, but couldn’t. My mind raced with all the surprises that had happened today: Tara Tina Ramirez showing up at Filene’s, Sean’s murder, and now this crap. I could picture Tiger waving his hand and telling me that he’d told me to stay home.
Maxim touched my shoulder. “I want the EMTs to take a look at you before we go. Is that okay?”
I looked up at him. “Can I take back what I said before about going with you? I don’t want to do this anymore.”
30
Friday, 3: 00 PM
Garden Ridge Retail Store, Norcross, Georgia
The only good thing about being here this long was that Garden Ridge had cushy pillows and nice tables to use as a sort of lounge/work station underneath the canopy. I sat on a bench next to a sketchpad artist and a technician with an electronic tablet that housed current and past felons in a database. We were hidden from plain view by outdoor canopies. Apparently, the crowd made it hard for us to leave.
“When the shootings were happening I ran inside to stop the shooter, but bumped into this guy wearing a Garden Ridge Security Uniform,” I repeated to a CSI technician, who now videotaped my interview.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. It’ll keep us from asking you to come down to headquarters for more questioning.” Detective Page smiled at Maxim instead of me. “Also, these tech toys will help us track down the shooter faster. Is that okay with you?”
“Very.” I bit my lip and leaned over to get a better glance of the tablet. “I need to get one of those.”
“You should.” Detective Page smiled again. “Angel, by any chance, do you remember what the shooter looked like?”
“Yes.” I checked my watch.
We had been sitting here for at least an hour and I had been on this scene for maybe three. I’d called Mom and told her what was going on and spoke to Bella. It had calmed me down for a little while, but this was going on way too long.
Because of the economy, low staff numbers, and higher crime rate it took longer to process crime scenes. Murder scenes, of course, took longer: twelve to fifteen hours long. This was worse than staking out a rap artist carrying a duffle bag full of ones into a strip club. Maybe being a bail recovery agent had more perks than I realized.
“Now would be a good time to share his description with us.” Maxim nudged. “It’ll help us, too, and we have to get a move on.”
“Well, he wasn’t as pretty as you, Maxim.” I gave him the side eye.
He didn’t smile, but continued walking toward me. He wore blue jeans well, too.
“Was he black?”
I shook my head. “White.”
He coughed. “Was he my build? My height?”
“Your height, but you have a better build. I mean, you have larger muscles. Oh, I’m exhausted.” I covered my eyes with my hands. I sounded like an idiot.
Ty had arrived a few minutes earlier. He sat on the other side of me and patted my back. “You’re doing good, kid.”
I peeked at him. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Maxim said. “Clear your mind and use what Uncle Deke and I have taught you. Tell me about the Knocker.”
He now stood in front of me, yet I saw him in a different way. This was his show. It was his arena and he looked good in it. I gulped. Either the turkey sandwich he gave me a few hours ago hadn’t hit the spot or I was missing Justus. Whatever it was it definitely wasn’t a growing attraction to Maxim. I was sleep deprived.
I looked to Ty and Detective Page in confusion. “Knocker? What is that?”
This time Detective Page wasn’t smiling or nodding. There was a tremble in her fingers. “The Knocker is a person, Angel. A very, very bad person.”
“He’
s back.” Ty cursed. “This guy is crazy. He uses a captive bolt pistol on his marks.”
“That’s why I thought about a horse ranch when I saw Sean,” I said. “My family uses that to put their horses and cattle down.”
Ty grinned. “You’re a country girl?”
“Not really. Ava and I are from South Georgia, but Mom moved us here to Atlanta when she remarried. We were kids then. We only returned during the summers to help out until I was sixteen.” A chill ran up my spine.
Maxim pulled a folding chair from the other side of the table, placed it in front of me, and sat down on it. “Is this too much for you?”
“Yeah.” I chuckled nervously. “I need to use who I am to get what I want. I can do this.”
“We’re going to leave in a few minutes and get you out of this space,” he said. His arms were on my leg, but I knew he wasn’t being flirty, just concerned.
“Angel, your description of him, the large bolt that popped Sean’s eye out of his socket, looks textbook Knocker,” Ty said.
“So who is this guy?” I asked.
“His real name is Biloxi James. He’s a hitman by trade. Has roots in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Tennessee, but word on the street is that he’s been living in Georgia for a while now near Kingsland and St. Mary’s.”
“Bootleggers?” I turned to Maxim. “They have hitmen?”
Maxim touched my shoulder. “Not like what we think. Not like the movies. They’re not the mafia.”
“Not too far from it, either.” Ty smirked. “Moonshine, even in GA, is a multimillion dollar business. Outside of Atlanta, package stores aren’t a dime a dozen. Everyone doesn’t care for champagne, wine, and wine coolers like you can get in the grocery store. They want whiskey. They want white lightning and they don’t want the federal regulated kind.”
“So people are hired to protect the illegal kind, the people who make it, and the moonshine way of life.”
I gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Maxim frowned.
I turned to Maxim. “Sounds like something Rosary would say. Is this a coincidence or a sick joke? Why would he come up here if she’s down there?”
Someone Bad and Something Blue Page 17