by Dan Alatorre
The sniper’s down. But do we have anyone trapped inside?
He scanned the burning unit. There was only one way to find out.
Give it sixty seconds. Hold your breath and count. At sixty, you’re out no matter what.
Taking off his jacket, he held it over his head. He sucked in as hard as he could, then bent over and ran inside.
The heat was smothering. Black smoke crawled across the ceiling; pockets of orange flames jumped up from the floor. Sergio’s eyes and nose dried out. He blinked to be able to keep going, staying low.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
“Is anybody in here?”
The shouting made him cough. Most of the floor was on fire now, and the walls. The living room was cast in an amber hue, like a sunset, from the smoke filling the space and blocking out the light. The couch was clear, as was the far side of the hallway. He hopped onto the sofa and jumped to the clear part of the floor beyond, looking for survivors. At the end of the unit was a sliding glass door. Past that, daylight and a shimmering blue pond.
Ten . . . eleven . . . twelve . . .
He shouted again. “Is anybody in here?”
There was no reply. Choking, he threw open a hall door, then a closet. Nothing. No hostages. No other shooters.
The only one dumb enough to still be in here is me.
At the end of the hallway, he saw the next body. A woman lay on her back near the burning carpet. The last remnants of her tie-dyed pink shirt and stone washed jeans burning in the flames, her feet and ankles charred and turning to ash.
Smoke inhalation took her down.
Grimacing against the flames, he put a finger to her neck. No pulse.
The gas can and lighter by her side told the story. Whatever went on here, she had wanted it erased.
Instead, the fire got her.
As he took his fingers from her neck, a low, rumbling noise came from behind him. The fire was eating its way through the unit.
But there are just a few more rooms.
He resumed his count. The heat was too intense to stay much longer. The guest bathroom was empty, except for a laptop. He picked it up with a towel so it wouldn’t burn his hand, and threw it out onto the grass.
The rear bedroom was next. The closet there, and the master bath, were all empty. No homeowner tied to a bed, no scared kids in a closet, nothing.
Choking, Sergio went back to the hallway and jumped over the burning carpet. The fire had not yet reached all the way to the rear of the unit, but the smoke was in each hot breath he inhaled. He gagged, stepping onto the tiled area in front of the sliding glass doors, putting his hand out to keep from falling down. Peeking out from under his jacket, he gave the condo one last look.
Forty-eight, forty-nine . . .
Blinking hard against the intense heat, he glanced at the two corpses. The man and the woman were beyond rescue. The fire inspectors would take it from here. It was time to go.
Another rumble came from the front of the unit. He turned, viewing the kitchen. It hadn’t been visible from the front door, and the shooter’s burned body in the hallway distracted him as he ran.
Now, the kitchen had his full attention.
A red gas can on the counter was engulfed in flames. Its plastic sides swelled, and the container burst. A yellow-white cloud rushed outward, searing everything in its path. Sergio turned away, falling as a wave of heat surged past him. Flames roared in the kitchen.
On his knees, he crawled for the exit, glancing back at the kitchen counter. Half a dozen red gas cans lined the surface; another half dozen stood on the kitchen floor. A curl of yellow swirled around the lid of one can, like a tiny tornado, then exploded outward in another ball of yellow-white heat.
The impact knocked Sergio forward. He scrambled to his feet, rushing for the opening in the sliding glass door as the next eruption came. The explosion hurled him sideways through the doorway and onto the grass outside.
As the next explosion threw fire all around him, he lunged to the little pond and crashed under the water.
The stark cold gripped him. It sucked the air from his lungs and pressed his wet clothes against him, but it was a welcome relief from the oven of heat he’d been inhaling. Fighting to stay submerged, Sergio stared upwards at the rippling surface. The sky turned yellow-white as another massive explosion rumbled through the condo.
He stayed under as long as he could, and the yellow flames reared back. His head throbbing and his lungs aching, Sergio pushed himself upward through the water, breaking the surface and gasping for breath after breath of cool, fresh air.
He opened his eyes, gawking at the inferno. The building was engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed upward into the clear blue sky.
“Here!” An elderly, bowlegged man rushed forward, extending a hand to Sergio. “You got blown up, boy. Take my hand. We go! Hurry!”
Sergio let the man pull him to safety. On the other side of the pond, the old man and his wife wrapped Sergio in blankets as the sound of distant sirens filled the air.
Chapter 46
Cloaked in a fresh blanket, a still-damp Sergio sat on the back of the Fire-Rescue truck, letting a paramedic dab at his face with some gauze.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Sergio leaned away. “But I’ll take another tissue.”
“Sure, Detective,” the paramedic said.
Holding the tissue up to his nose, Sergio blew. The tissue filled with black soot.
“That’s attractive.” Carly chuckled, approaching. Lieutenant Davis was right behind her, followed by Johnny Tyree. When she reached Sergio at the Fire-Rescue vehicle, Carly folded her arms. “I thought you said you’d call me right back.”
Sergio shrugged. “Phone kinda got wet.”
“Maybe Santa will bring you a new one.” Carly looked at Sergio. “You’ve been swimming a lot lately.”
Sergio patted his thigh. “I hear it’s good for the upper body and legs. You know, work the core.”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head.
“Hey, Detective.” A fire investigator waved at Sergio. “You said you wanted a look before we zipped up the bags on these two guys from the parking lot.”
Sergio eyed the lieutenant. “Okay if I check the bodies?”
“Be my guest,” Davis said. “You’re the man of the hour, catching the serial killer and saving Christmas.”
Sergio crossed the parking lot with Carly. “The lieutenant is in an interesting mood.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe he’s feeling the holiday spirit.”
“Here you go, Detective.” The fire investigator pulled the body bag away from the dead man’s face and held it open. “The two bodies from inside are being looked at by the coroner. We’ll have something on them in a minute.”
Sergio squatted, looking at one of the men who’d been shot in the parking lot. “That’s Raul Antino. I recognize him from my days in vice. He does enforcement for some local numbers runners and bookies.” He looked at the second body. “That’s Stoney Wagner. Same deal.” Sergio stared at the burned-out condo. “The sniper took them out, so they’re all related somehow.”
“Looks like the dead male inside the condo was Nicholas Arthur Rossi.” The coroner walked over. “Unless he liked carrying someone else’s wallet. And he’s former military. The female’s ID was preserved, too. Both were found lying on their backs, ID in the back pocket. In that position, with the gluteus muscles pressing down into the floor, the fire didn’t have enough time or oxygen to burn through the clothes and the wallets.”
“Nick Rossi?” Sergio nodded. “Yep, he’s a small time collector with those two. Or, he was.”
“And now it looks like he’s a dead serial killer.” Lieutenant Davis took out his phone. “We have people at the office working the database, and the task force members are all there. I’ll ask the MacDill reps to run Rossi through their system. Were you able to ascertain a number on the military ID?”
The coroner hande
d the Lieutenant a piece of paper. “Right here.”
Taking it, the lieutenant put his phone to his ear and stepped away. A news van rolled up behind the fire trucks.
Sergio looked at the body bags on stretchers beside the coroner’s van. “So, who was the woman?”
“We’ll know more after we fully process her at the lab,” the coroner said. “But the Florida driver’s license in her pocket says she’s Marla Anne Palmer.”
Sergio rubbed his beard stubble as he stared at the yellow building. “Huh.”
Carly’s phone pinged with a text. She read the screen. “Our lab techs have an update on the laptop you grabbed from the condo’s bathroom. It sustained a lot of heat damage, but they were able to pull the hard drive. It’s registered to Marla Palmer, and it’s full of searches for the mayoral debates—times, dates, news stories—and recipes for homemade fertilizer explosives.” She glanced at Sergio. “Credit card purchases show she leased a trailer and bought almost a metric ton of fertilizer over the past few months.”
Sergio scanned the parking lot. “Where’s that?”
Carly looked at Tyree. “At the debate site?”
“I’m on it,” he said. He called Lavonte. “Hey, Big Brass, we may have an issue. Were any of the trailers not picked up today?” Tyree held the phone away from his face and pressed the speakerphone button. “Say that again.”
“We got one trailer left. A big one, like for two horses. Heavy, too, riding low on its axels.”
“Don’t go near it!” Carly yelled. “I’m sending a police unit out.”
“Too late,” Lavonte said. “We busted that sucker open at ten a.m. Sergio’s friend be a fiend with a crowbar. Got that lock right off. Tell dude he better watch himself around her. Lotta hostility there.”
Tyree nodded. “What was inside?”
“Fertilizer. Big bags, all packed in tight. Must be a mistake, though. The manifest says it’s backup generators.”
“Okay.” Carly leaned toward the phone. “Stay clear. We’re sending somebody out to have a closer look.”
* * * * *
As the lieutenant ended his call with the MacDill reps and headed toward the reporters, his phone rang. He pressed the green button. “This is Lieutenant Davis.”
“Yes, sir,” a woman said. “Please hold for Governor Richie.”
The line clicked. Road noise came through the earpiece.
“Lieutenant Davis?” the Governor said.
“Yes, sir.” Davis beamed, strutting around in a circle. “Good to hear from you again, Governor. I hope you enjoyed the party.”
“Oh, great time. I enjoyed myself. Listen, I’m calling about a favor. The Board of State Governors is putting together a serial killer task force. I’m hearing good things about a rising star you’ve got over there. I thought I’d call and see about getting that star on my task force.”
Carly on a special serial killer task force?
“I don’t want to jumble things up for you, Lieutenant. I know you’re in the middle of interviews and administrative stuff there, but this is important to me. Positive headlines will result, and the good press Florida receives would certainly reflect on Tampa PD—and you.”
The lieutenant grinned, gazing at the local reporters waiting for him.
National headlines!
What do I lose by letting Sanderson go, and what do I gain? Carly will certainly generate good press by staying here, but would it be even better for me if she joined the Board of Governors’ task force and grabbed headlines nationally?
No. I doubt I’d be able to grab a piece of that national spotlight. The press is funny that way.
But if she stays here, will she eventually eclipse me?
If I keep her here, I’m better able to control what happens to her—and to me.
“Uh, Governor . . .” Davis straightened up, adjusting the hem of his suit coat. “I’m sure any of my detectives would be excited to help you, but as I recall, Detective Sanderson indicated she is seeking a promotion to spend more time with her family, so—”
“Oh, we’re interested in Detective Sanderson, too, but I was talking about one of your other rising stars—Detective Sergio Martin, the guy you’ve got hanging by a thread right now, administratively. I’m not out to embarrass anybody, Lieutenant. If Sergio’s wrong for this job, just say so. But I’d like to help save a few more lives and put a few more bad guys behind bars. He seems to do that. And I’d be indebted to anybody who helped make this happen.”
“Yes, well . . .” Davis tugged at his collar.
Sergio! Again! Why does everyone like this guy so much?
“Uh,” Davis said. “Well, Chief Clemons would have to weigh in on that, Governor.”
“These people report to you,” the Governor said. “I thought I’d ask you first.”
* * * * *
The lieutenant walked back over to the others. “The task force checked Rossi’s ID. I’m about to tell the local press the details, but the short version of it is, he was taken in twice for shooting sprees while he was in the military. Once in Atlanta and once in Ft. Brannon.”
“Twice?” Carly said. “How does that happen?”
“According to the MacDill reps, the documents indicate a clerk in the psych evaluation office mishandled his records after Rossi underwent evaluation. We were in an overseas conflict at the time, so it slipped through the cracks. He got worked back in, where he committed another shooting spree at a different base, and somehow when he went for his mandatory psychological exam, the records got lost again. Unofficially, the rumor is, a clerk in the psych office was sleeping with the base commander in Atlanta so he’d look the other way.” The lieutenant shook his head. “The second time, the records just disappeared. When they were requested for evaluation by the psych office, poof. Gone. Rossi was discharged with a section eight to make it go away. Guess who the clerk was both times?” He frowned. “A civilian contractor named Marla Palmer.”
Sergio grimaced. “So, she got her boyfriend out of murder charges? Twice?”
“And almost got him out a third time,” Davis said. “She must’ve had a thing about watching him kill people. With the ones he got in Tampa, Rossi is responsible for more than twenty murders. She might have been right there the whole time. Poor thing, being under somebody’s thumb like that. I guess murdering people one at a time wasn’t a big enough thrill, so the killers were going to take out a big crowd—but they didn’t think it through. Every death by the sniper ensured fewer people going to that debate, until it finally got cancelled. Not a very good plan.”
“Well, it cost her this time.” Sergio grimaced at the burned-out condo unit.
Lieutenant Davis cleared his throat. “Uh, Detective.” He looked at Sergio. “When you get cleaned up, swing by my office, would you? Today?”
“Sure, Lieutenant.” Sergio cocked his head. “But I’m not much for suspense. Can you just tell me now?”
The lieutenant tugged at his collar. “If you insist.” He took a step to the side. “Over here, if you don’t mind, Detective.”
Sergio walked with the lieutenant to a spot in the parking lot away from the trucks and reporters.
Davis cleared his throat again and spoke softly. “I’ve decided to reconsider your employment on the force. To reinstate you, with a letter of reprimand—lift your suspension due to . . . extenuating circumstances. What would you say to that?”
“I’d say Christmas came early,” Sergio said. “But since I’m staring at the Grinch, what’s the catch?”
“No catch.” Davis glanced across the lot toward where Carly stood. “Circumstances matter. Like this sniper case. You nabbed the bad guys and were holding them down until we could arrive, but in the process of assembling a bomb, they torched themselves.” He held up his phone. “I’ve received a dozen requests for interviews. It, uh, seems the media thinks you’re a hero. Well, maybe they’re right.”
A wry smile crossed Sergio’s lips. “And now you need a hero to tal
k nice about you.”
“Take a win, would you?” The lieutenant frowned. “I’m offering your job back. The people of Tampa wanted to celebrate Christmas without fearing that the sniper was out there, and you helped accomplish that. Take the win. Your reckless actions will be a constant threat to this department, but you’ve done some heroic work, and I’m willing to move forward. If you can dial back the theatrics, you might make a great cop. What do you say?”
“I’d be a fool to not jump at the chance.”
“Then jump.” Davis held his hand out.
Sergio reached for it, then pulled his hand away. “But see, you’re a bit of a jerk, Lieutenant. Coming back, I’d always have your sword at my throat.”
Davis bristled. “Yes, I’m a by-the-book guy, Detective. And if you screw up, you’ll be disciplined like anyone else. Whoever’s in charge would make the same decisions I’d make about you. This time, it’s an olive branch.”
Sergio looked at the Lieutenant. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t take too long.”
“I won’t. You’ll have my answer in the morning. And Lieutenant—thank you.”
As Davis walked to the reporters, Sergio looked at Carly and the others.
The last few hours, talking with the investigators and the coroner—and interacting with his partner, even if it was mostly by phone—had been like old times. It was a reminder of what used to be.
And what would be no more.
And is that really what I want?
Carly waved him over. He walked slowly back to the group.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“I need to consult my attorney.” Sergio stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down and smiling. “Apparently, the lieutenant has seen the error of his ways and offered me my job back.”
Carly and Tyree voiced their congratulations.
Sergio broke out in a big grin. “I promised Abbie I’d bring her any settlement offers, though.”
“Welcome back,” Carly said.