Primary Target: a fast-paced murder mystery (Double Blind Book 2)

by Dan Alatorre

  The sound returned. The Commander’s voice was even, but strained. “All units prepare to engage. Unit one—”

  The sound cut out of Carly’s earpiece.

  “—an update.” The Commander’s voice returned, his words breaking up. “What do you see?”

  “Looks like they’re talking, Commander. He has something in his hand.”

  “Do you see a weapon?” the Commander asked.

  “I can’t tell . . . Now the woman is coming toward the front of the house. Male suspect is moving from my view.”

  The Commander growled. “All teams, who has eyes on the male suspect?”

  “This is team two. Male suspect is going into a pantry or something. We can’t see more at this time. He’s at the back of the house.”

  “Female suspect is at the door.”

  Carly took a step backwards.

  “Is she unarmed?” the Commander asked.

  “Ten-four. Female suspect appears unarmed.”

  Carly stifled a gasp. Appears?

  From the door in front of her, the sound of a deadbolt lock clicked.

  “Suspect is moving.”

  “Which suspect?” the Commander said.

  The reply broke up again, covered by static. Carly glanced at Noffke as she reached for her sidearm. The front door cracked open.

  “Male suspect . . . the front . . . the house. He is . . . something long and straight, Commander. Could be a weapon.”

  The door swung open. Carly unsnapped the safety catch on the holster and gripped her weapon.

  The Commander’s voice crackled with static, cutting in and out. “All teams . . . Fire on . . .”

  Silence.

  Her heart in her throat, Carly pulled her weapon, keeping her eyes on the door. A woman’s face appeared.

  “He’s raising the weapon . . . like . . . rifle.”

  Carly slid the gun to her hip, jamming her finger onto the trigger. Her earpiece buzzed loudly.

  “I have a shot.”

  “Green! Green!” The commander shouted. “Take the shot.”

  The woman at the door leaned forward, squinting. She pushed the door open further and stepped into the light. “Detective Sanderson?”

  Carly’s jaw dropped.

  Dr. Stevens.

  “Stand down!” Carly slammed her gun back into her holster, throwing her hands over her head. “Stand down, all teams!”

  A middle-aged man appeared behind the woman, carrying a broom and a cordless phone.

  Carly stepped into the doorway, her hands raised. “All teams, stand down! Stand down! Stand down!”

  Noffke turned around, waving his hands toward the black SWAT van. “It’s a broom! There’s no rifle!”

  “Stand down!” the Commander shouted. “All units, stand down!”

  In her ear, the commander spoke. “All units, all teams, suspect has no weapon. Repeat, we have no weapon. Stand down.”

  The van doors opened and the Commander bolted out. A dozen SWAT team members emerged from the bushes on the sides of the house, their weapons lowered.

  “Oh, my gosh.” Carly put her hand to her chest, leaning on the door frame. “Oh, my gosh.”

  Dr. Stevens looked at her. “Is everything okay?”

  Carly nodded, breathless. “Oh, my gosh,” she gasped, rubbing her forehead. “Oh, man.” Standing, Carly extended her hand to Dr. Stevens. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry.” As they shook hands, Carly gestured to the man in the doorway beside the doctor. The one from the blurry Shop N Go photo. “And this gentleman would be . . .”

  Dr. Stevens clutched the arm of the man next to her. “This is my husband, Detective.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carly said.

  A Channel Eight news van drove up. Reporter Giselle Winsome jumped out before the vehicle came to a stop, rushing across the grass. A camera operator bounded out after her, focusing the lens as he fired up the camera lights.

  Dr. Stevens frowned, peering at the officers and news people gathering on her lawn. “Now, would someone like to tell me what’s going on?”

  Chapter 27

  As Carly drove, she called Lieutenant Davis.

  “Hello, Detective.”

  “We need to talk,” Carly said. “Now.”

  “That’s no way to speak to your commanding officer, Carly.”

  “We need to talk now, sir.”

  Davis huffed. “Okay. I’m at the station. Come on in—but cool your jets.”

  “I’m already on the way.” Carly ended the call and dropped her phone onto the passenger seat. Gripping the wheel, she stomped the accelerator.

  * * * * *

  Carly paced back and forth in Lieutenant Davis’ office, shaking her head. “I’m a street cop, sir. A field detective. Please help me understand the logic of what just happened.”

  “I can see you’re upset—and rightly so.” Davis sat at his desk, leaning back, his hands folded over his lap. “We’re all . . . disappointed that the convenience store cashier’s lead didn’t pan out.”

  Carly put her hand to her forehead.

  “Behind the scenes, I’ve been assembling a team of experts to help us.” Davis rocked back and forth in his chair. “You saw some of them the other day, at the press conference. Dr. Stevens, people from the FBI and MacDill Air Force Base . . . people with the connections and clout, who can lend real insight into the mind of a sniper. Psychological input will be paramount here, and these are the best of the best. We’re planning to do interviews to show off their expertise to the public and get peoples’ fears calmed down again.”

  “Show off?” Carly huffed. “This isn’t a high school play, sir. These are real people, and—”

  “Dr. Stevens admits to discussing the case with her husband. That’s to be expected from time to time, I suppose. She told him a few things, and he was excited to have inside knowledge—and he went blabbing to the cashier. They’re both very embarrassed.”

  “Ya think?” Carly put her hands on her hips. “He told us he flirted with the cashier because she seemed ‘into it.’ That almost got his head taken off.”

  “He’s a scientist.” Davis folded his arms. “And he’s been married for quite a while. I guess he forgot what flirting looks like.”

  “Sir, we had a news team arrive on-site. At Dr. Stevens’ residence. How—”

  “Nobody knew they lived there.” Davis wagged a finger, getting to his feet. “It’s a short-term lease while their house on Bayshore is undergoing renovations.”

  Officer Harriman knocked on the lieutenant’s door, holding a manilla folder. “Sir, you asked for copies of the preliminary interviews from Dr. Stevens and her husband?”

  “Thank you, Harriman.” He took the folders and set them on his desk, looking at Carly. “As I said, this has all been quite an embarrassment.”

  “It could have been much worse,” Carly said. “A news team? Lieutenant, this is—”

  “Word of the operation must have leaked.” Davis sat down again. “It happens.”

  Gritting her teeth, Carly turned to Harriman. “Mark, would you give the lieutenant and I the room, please?”

  Harriman nodded, exiting the office and shutting the door behind him.

  Carly turned to the lieutenant, lowering her voice as she leaned on his desk. “It wasn’t a leak.”

  Davis recoiled. “Watch yourself, Detective.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You had me suited up, ready to be face to face with a serial killer. I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”

  The lieutenant sighed, shifting in his seat. “No, it wasn’t a leak.” He picked up the manilla folder and slipped it into a drawer. “We could use some good press around here, Carly. Even you can understand that.” He stood, buttoning his suit coat. “Have a seat. Please.”

  Biting her lip, Carly lowered herself into a chair.

  “Come on.” Davis stepped around to the front of the desk. “The sniper being led out of his house in cuffs? That’s what the public wants to see.
We were wrong this time, but it was a good idea.”

  Carly looked down. “It feels like stagecraft, sir. But it’s dangerous. And if the reporters had shown up a few minutes earlier, they might have gotten somebody shot.”

  “They were never going to show up early.” The lieutenant sat on the edge of his desk. “I . . . had them waiting for my go ahead.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “You know . . .” Davis folded his hands in his lap. “Maybe we need a little separation from tonight’s activities. We should have you come in and do a few rounds of preliminary questions with the interview panel. For your promotion.”

  Carly glanced up at him. “Are you kidding me? Is that a bribe?”

  He smiled. “Don’t be silly. You have to do it anyway.”

  “I’m pretty busy at the moment, sir.”

  “We all are.” Davis stood, walking behind his desk again. “There won’t be a let up in your caseload simply because you’re interviewing, Carly. Sergeant Marshall said you were ready. Was he wrong?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Then I’ll set it up ASAP. Meanwhile, you can interface with my experts.” He sat, leaning back in his chair. “There are a lot of scared citizens out there who need to know their police force is up to the task of catching another killer, and that’s what we’re going to do.” He wagged his finger at her. “You’re going to play a big part in that. And there’s the mayoral primary debate coming up—outdoors, in Ybor City. So, we need our streets safe. The public demands it, and the politicians will make hay out of us if this sniper situation doesn’t look like it’s under control.”

  “Yes, but—” Carly took a breath to calm herself. Lieutenant Davis seemed too much about the cameras and not enough about the leg work.

  Somebody has to set him straight.

  “Sir.” Carly squared her shoulders, keeping her voice level. “This shooter might be too messy for TV cameras or too erratic for any schedule we might want to meet. He might not go down quietly like Son of Sam or The Night Stalker. He might put up a fight, or blast his way through the—”

  Carly stopped herself, her mouth open. She rolled through the details of the crime shows Sergio was always prattling on about to kill time on stakeouts and surveillance sessions.

  “What is it, Detective?”

  She stared at the ceiling.

  Son of Sam. The Night Stalker. The Beltway killers.

  “Carly?”

  She brought her gaze to look at the lieutenant. “Noffke said the D. C. Beltway Snipers were captured without a fight. They were asleep in their car.”

  “So?”

  “So everybody screwed up at the start of that case.” She paced back and forth across his office, waving her hands. “And they were chasing a white van—like us.” She stopped, looking at him. “But the D. C. killers had converted a car. A blue sedan.”

  “I’m not following, Detective.”

  She swept her hand across her forehead. “Don’t you see, sir? The white van, the volume of shootings, all coming so close to each other, every day. What if it’s a copycat?”

  He rocked forward in the chair, putting his hands on the desk. “And if it is?”

  “The D. C. snipers were using the shootings to obscure their real target. One of the guys planned to kill his ex-wife and use the other murders as a smoke screen, like it was some random maniac on the loose. But ultimately, they were trying to hide their real target between the other bodies.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “What do you figure the real target here is?”

  “I don’t know.” Carly went to the window, gazing out over the lights of downtown. “But the D. C. snipers were watching the news to keep tabs on how the police were progressing.” She turned to Davis. “And when the lead officer announced that the schools were safe, they shot a school kid to prove him wrong.”

  “Are you suggesting we pick a target and announce it’s invincible, to set a trap?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She resumed her pacing. “It’d be too risky, and the sniper might not go for it anyway. The point of shooting a student was to let the police know it was the snipers who were in charge.” She raised her eyes to his. “That’s a pathway to how we can get them, sir. That’s a possible line of attack. But we need more. We need psychological input, now that we have some insights.” Stepping to the desk, she tapped the surface with her index finger. “We need to talk to Dr. Stevens right away. We need to get professional input on this guy. Instead of playing catch up, we might be able to get in front of this thing and anticipate his next move.”

  She wheeled around and paced again, then stopped. “Oh, and the tarps! That’s what they did in D. C. That’s why it looked familiar. The gas stations in D. C. hung up tarps like ours are doing, because some of the victims were shot at gas stations.”

  Like some of ours were.

  She rushed to the door, flinging it open. Harriman was sitting on a chair outside the lieutenant’s office.

  “Mark, get onto a computer and do an internet search on the D. C. Beltway snipers. I need a list of victims and where they were killed.”

  “In here.” Davis stood up. “Use mine, Harriman.”

  As the officer entered, Carly looked at Davis. “We need to call Dr. Stevens, sir. Right away.”

  “I appreciate the urgency, Detective, but . . .” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “She’s probably not calmed down enough to sleep yet. Not after she was nearly attacked by a SWAT team on her front porch.”

  Carly picked up the phone on the lieutenant’s desk and held it out to him. “I can appreciate any discomfort on her end, but she’s the one who discussed confidential details of the case with her husband, who turned around and told it to a cashier at a Shop N Go. I’d say her potential irritation is pretty much a non-factor right now.”

  “What, call her now?” Davis frowned.

  “Yes, sir,” Carly said. “The sooner, the better. She’s one of your experts. We’re all working our butts off twenty-four seven. Your panel of experts needs to, as well. She’ll take your call. In fact—” She put the receiver in his hand and lifted the phone console, setting it in front of him—“Let’s call your whole team and get them to come in. We need ideas, and the body count is still piling up. Dr Stevens won’t be the only one who can offer some insights, but we need those insights now, not—”

  “Detective.” Harriman’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen.

  “—in a report the day after tomorrow. They may have thoughts on a methodology we could use to—”

  “Detective Sanderson,” Harriman said.

  “—to draw the sniper out, or to—”

  “Carly.”

  She shook her head, looking at Harriman. “Yes?”

  He sighed, pushing away from the desk. “You aren’t going to like this.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “The D. C. shooters were nicknamed the Beltway snipers, right?” Harriman waved at the screen. “But get this. Their victims were a woman at a gas station, a lawn mower guy, an employee at Michaels crafts . . .”

  “What!” Lieutenant Davis rushed forward.

  Carly’s jaw dropped as she eyed the computer.

  Harriman slid his finger across the screen. “Then another victim at a gas station . . .”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the list of victims.

  “Detective.” Harriman leaned back, looking at Carly. “Our shooters are doing things in almost the exact same order the Beltway snipers did.”

  Chapter 28

  Sitting back in the chair in his living room, Sergio wiped his hands with a paper napkin and tossed it into the empty pizza box. “So—what’s your big secret, counselor?”

  “Well . . .” Abbie set her plastic salad bowl on the coffee table. “I asked if you liked being a cop, and I think you do—but you might be on the way out. However . . .” She crossed her legs and rested her elbow on her knee. “The DEA has approached me about Morton. They
want to take down the drug ring he works with, and they need an inside guy. Morton was law enforcement, so the bad guys higher up in the smuggling operation apparently like that. They might be open to bringing on another disgruntled cop. Someone who has a reputation for breaking rules. Someone who gets into trouble on occasion.”

  Sergio winced. “Someone like me.”

  “Mm hmm.” She pressed the fork between her lips. “I want you to approach Morton. Tell him you want to work for him because the Tampa PD is letting you go. He’ll be sympathetic. If he takes you on, there’ll be an inside man who can tell the DEA all sorts of information about the smuggling ring, all the way up the chain.”

  “Morton wouldn’t go for that,” Sergio said. “Not after I put him and his friend flat on their backs at Café Cubano.”

  “You’ll apologize and say you didn’t know who he was. And if you were to publicly denounce the department first, and threw your former partner under the bus, you could sell him. If the drug ring needs someone from law enforcement working with them, Morton can’t provide that anymore.”

  “Neither can I,” Sergio said. “I’m on suspension, remember? On my way to being out the door.”

  Abbie waved a hand. “I can drag out a dismissal case for a year or more.” She dug into her salad and speared a tomato. “I’ll have a scheduling conflict every time they want to have a deposition. We’ll need more time to locate our witnesses . . . There are all sorts of legal maneuvers to delay things.” She popped the tomato into her mouth.

  “I don’t know. It’s a longshot at best.” Sergio got up and closed the pizza box, carrying it to the kitchen.

  Abbie took another bite of her salad, letting the fork dwell on her lower lip. “Morton is connected to your white whale, you know. To Parmenter.”

  “He is?” Sergio peered into the living room. “How?”

  She moved her fork through the lettuce and croutons. “One link up the chain, Morton and Parmenter both report to the same guy.” She turned to face Sergio. “If you help the DEA get Morton, you’ll be helping yourself get Parmenter. These guys have branched into selling drugs to school kids. You can’t want that.”

  “I already got Parmenter, remember? He’s in lockup as we speak.”