The Boat Man: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 1)

by Dustin Stevens

  Once more the image of the previous night flashed into Reed’s mind, of the ground painted with the victim’s blood. “Any defensive wounds?”

  “Nothing,” Solomon said, twisting her head. “Low levels of adrenaline in the bloodstream seem to indicate the attack was by surprise, the victim never even had time to react.”

  Reed’s head bobbed up and down as he chewed on the information, adding to what he already knew. “That or he was familiar with his killer, didn’t have reason to be alarmed.”

  “Possible,” Solomon said, raising her eyebrows in concession. “The level of excessive mutilation would indicate a personal connection.”

  The words excessive mutilation were the same ones Reed would choose to describe the scene. It seemed to indicate that the goal wasn’t robbery, or even death, but to make a statement.

  “Any ideas on murder weapon?” Reed asked, blinking himself into focus, his attention still aimed at the folder on Solomon’s lap.

  Flipping the top page on her report, she held it perpendicular to the file and read aloud. “All three wounds seem to be made from the same weapon, a large blade with a minimum eighth inch thickness, maximum of a quarter inch.”

  A low, shrill whistle slid out of Reed, though he refrained from speaking.

  “Also, each of the wounds looked to be made at a downward angle, indicating the attacker was taller than the victim.”

  Lowering the sheet back into place, Solomon closed the file and extended it to Reed.

  “Anything else?” he asked, accepting it and turning it to face him, though not bothering to open it.

  “Yes,” Solomon said, dropping the glasses back from her nose, letting them bounce against the front of her sweater. “All three wounds were single slashes, clean cuts that showed no sign of remorse or hesitation.

  “Whoever attacked this man wanted him dead.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Come on out, girl,” Reed said, pulling the back door open and standing aside as Billie bounded down, stopping just a few feet past the car and waiting, her entire body rigid. She held her nose to the wind, sniffing at it, her ears lowered on her head as she recorded the scent.

  “Search,” Reed said, a bit of bass in his tone, the voice reserved for issuing a command. At the sound of it Billie dropped her nose to the ground, drawing in deep inhalations, her tail and ears all three tucked low as she worked.

  Remaining by the car, Reed watched as she went, leaning against the driver’s side door, his arms folded across his chest. He stayed fixed in that position as the same blue-and-white he’d seen sixteen hours before pulled up beside him, the brakes emitting a low whine as it came to a stop.

  Jacobs was the first one out, climbing from the passenger seat, followed a moment later by McMichaels. Both were already in uniform, agreeing to meet before their shift started. As a sign of appreciation Reed had let them choose the location, requesting only that it be far from any prying ears until they knew more about the victim and the murder.

  Why they had chosen an abandoned gas station he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t press it.

  Across the parking lot, Billie raised her head as the two officers approached, a low growl rolling from her. Drawing her head out straight from her shoulders she bared her top teeth, staring as they moved forward.

  “No!” Reed said, the word drawing a visible slackening from the dog. “Search.”

  On cue, she lowered her head, her gaze remaining on the pair of men a moment longer before shifting back to the ground before her.

  “What’s it looking for?” Jacobs asked, watching Billie work, coming to a stop by the rear bumper.

  “She,” Reed corrected, seeing Jacobs raise an eyebrow in question. “She’s a girl.”

  Both men nodded at the explanation, though if it was a move of understanding or to placate him he couldn’t be sure.

  Either way, it was the right response.

  “She’s getting a blueprint for this place,” Reed said. “In the Marines they trained her to alert on dozens of different compounds and agents. If anything is here, she’ll pick it up.”

  The two partners exchanged a glance.

  “You really think somebody’s been making a bomb here?” McMichaels asked. “We just picked this place because it’s close to where we start patrol.”

  “I figured,” Reed said, nodding for emphasis, “and no, I don’t expect her to find anything. If we come across something in the future though that is here, she’ll recognize it.

  “We still haven’t spent a lot of time in The Bottoms. Never know when it might come in handy.”

  Both men again nodded in unison, their mouths easing open as they raised their faces towards the sky.

  “So, what were you guys able to find out?” Reed asked, bypassing any further discussion of his partner.

  While both had been civil, even respectful of her, he was fast finding that others on the force didn’t share the same feelings. Once upon a time he had trended in that direction, so he understood the resentment, even if he didn’t like it.

  The fact was, he still wasn’t entirely sure about how he felt having Billie for a partner. He’d grown up with dogs, had always liked them, but had never considered one to be something he could trust his life to if necessary. The only reason he had considered the notion was because force regulations mandated he work with somebody.

  Billie seemed a lot better than the alternative.

  “Exactly like you pegged it last night,” Jacobs said, no small amount of acrimony in his voice. “We got basically nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” McMichaels corrected, “we caught a lot of hell from various folks.”

  The left corner of Reed’s mouth turned upward as he shifted to gaze at Billie, still working her way across the open expanse of concrete. The sound of her sniffing could be heard carrying towards them, one long breath after another.

  “Let me guess,” he said, “called you pigs? Told you to stop hassling innocent people?”

  “Isn’t there a donut somewhere that’s missing us?” Jacobs added.

  “Don’t we have anything better to do than interrupt people trying to have their morning coffee,” McMichaels finished, the same tone of voice as the other two.

  Every officer to ever work patrol had heard the lines before, the same rhetoric spouted by citizens that were angry about something they couldn’t quite articulate.

  “So nobody saw a thing?” Reed asked.

  “If they did, they aren’t talking about it,” Jacobs replied.

  “Not one of them heard anything either, right?”

  A smirk pulled at Jacobs’s face, revealing just the slightest bit of teeth. “Most of them acted like we were crazy for even asking. Took it as some mortal offense that we would even insinuate they had been out at that time of night.”

  “Shit,” Reed muttered, dropping his gaze to the ground. He nudged a rock into position with the toe of his shoe before swinging his foot at it, sending it skittering across the concrete.

  “There was one woman you might be able to circle back to in a day or two,” McMichaels said, drawing a small slip of paper from his shirt pocket. Folded in half, blue ruled lines were visible on it and one edge was frayed, consistent with a sheet ripped from a handheld notebook.

  “Her name and address is here,” he continued. “I got the impression she might know a little bit, but by the time we made it to her there were a lot of sideways glances going around. Know what I mean?”

  Reed nodded, taking the sheet of paper and opening it up. He knew exactly what McMichaels meant, had seen many similar witnesses over the years. People that wanted to help, but had to balance that with the fact that once the investigation was over, they still needed to coexist with the neighborhood around them.

  It was no secret what citizens in most communities thought about cops.

  That feeling was heightened tenfold in a place such as The Bottoms.

  “Thanks,” Reed said, stuffing the paper in
to the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll run her down tomorrow or the next day, once things cool down a bit.”

  “Sorry we couldn’t be more help,” Jacobs said, taking a step back towards the car.

  “You did everything you could,” Reed said, stepping forward and thrusting a hand out. “Appreciate it.”

  One at a time the officers shook his hand before retreating to their car, both offering a wave as they climbed inside. A moment later they backed out and circled east around the block, neither looking his way as they disappeared down the street.

  Checking his watch, Reed resumed his position against the side of the car, waiting as Billie continued to work the lot over. He closed his eyes and raised his face towards the sky, the cool late afternoon air settling over him. A breeze pushed in from the nearby river, carrying with it the smells of garbage and the remnants of gas from the station he stood before.

  Despite it, he remained in place, content to let Billie take as long as she wanted in canvassing the lot.

  Their next destination was definitely not one he wanted to arrive to early.

  Chapter Nine

  Under the cover of early morning darkness, there was nothing imposing about the 8th Precinct. Made entirely of brick that had faded from decades of exposure to the elements, it resembled an old school house, replete with a roundabout out front and a flag pole standing dead center of it. At three stories tall, triplicate rows of windows lined all four sides.

  More importantly, at that hour most of the windows were dark, the majority of the stalls in the parking lot empty.

  Just twelve hours later, the scene was markedly different.

  Parked in the rear of the lot, Reed drew in a deep breath and stared up at the building, watching as a handful of employees filed out. Lumped into groups of two and three, they carried their lunch sacks and purses with them, smiling, lost in conversation. Nobody noticed him in the back row or heard the sound of Billie whining at the sight of them.

  Reed waited a full five minutes after the end-of-day crowd filed out before climbing from the car. For a moment he considered leaving Billie behind before opting to bring her along, clipping her to the short leash and marching her towards the front door.

  Few things in the world discouraged conversation as much as an all-black Belgian Malinois, Reed was fast discovering. While she was far from vicious, gentle even when the time required it, her appearance alone seemed to insight some sort of internal mechanism for most people approaching. Even without realizing it they would recoil or shift their trajectory just enough, making sure the respective paths didn’t cross.

  It was that exact response that Reed was hoping to evoke here.

  The short leash afforded Billie just two feet of length, designed so Reed could keep a strong hold on her. Far more cumbersome than the eight foot lead he could clip to his jeans, or the complete freedom they both preferred, it kept her body pressed close to his side. As they walked he could feel her thick fur rubbing against him, the striated muscle of her abdomen flexing along his thigh.

  Side by side they walked towards the front door, crossing inside, the sound of Billie’s nails on the floor sounding out on contact, drawing a few stares their way.

  The interior of the first floor was designed in an office format, large open spaces to either side. Strewn throughout both were handfuls of desks, arranged in haphazard patterns, stacks of papers piled high.

  A few lamps still blazed bright, though most of the occupants had vacated for the day.

  Behind them a wall bisected the first floor, the back half of the building sectioned off into individual offices. A set of double doors with frosted glass separated them from the front bullpen areas, reserved for the captain and senior level staff.

  Ignoring the offices, Reed aimed his focus at the stairwell rising before him. He didn’t bother to issue a command to Billie as he went, letting her follow his lead in silence. Together they ascended the stairs two at a time, the wood beneath them groaning in protest, before coming out on the second floor.

  Following the same design as the first story, the space was cut in two, the back half used for the evidence room. The left side was reserved desk space for detectives, most of them standing empty, left untouched as much as possible.

  On the right was the dispatch desk, behind it the only pair of holding cells in the precinct.

  At the moment, the cells were both empty.

  The desk was not.

  Seated at it was Jackie, her wreath of white-blonde hair standing in a halo around her head. Bright pink lipstick framed gleaming teeth, a smile stretched across most of her face.

  The sources of her mirth stood on either side of her, both leaning on the opposite side of the counter. Even with their backs to him Reed recognized them on sight, feeling a bit of dread well within him.

  Beside him Billie seemed to sense his trepidation, her body going tense to the touch.

  Turning on a heel, Reed headed for the opposite side, moving fast in an effort to make it to his desk before being spotted. Tugging on Billie’s lead they made it less than four steps before Jackie’s voice echoed through the room, a mix of maternal scolding and mock disappointment.

  “Reed Mattox, I know you aren’t trying to sneak in here without stopping to say hello!”

  The words stopped Reed mid-step, his foot hanging suspended in the air as he twisted around to face forward.

  The exclamation had turned Jackie’s visitors around to look at him, any mirth the previous conversation had brought them long since evaporated. Both wore matching scowls as they stared back at him, contempt obvious on their faces.

  To the right was Pete Iaconelli, a senior detective that had pointed out three times in their first meeting that he was less than a year from retirement. The unspoken message in there was that he was biding his time until the day his walking papers were issued, meaning Reed should neither do anything to provide him with more work or that might jeopardize his pension.

  Reed couldn’t think of two things he would rather do less.

  At first glance, Iaconelli was a slovenly mess, someone that liked to refer to himself as a throwback to mask the fact that his lifestyle and his wardrobe were both stuck in the seventies. Weighing somewhere north of two hundred and fifty pounds, a hefty paunch hung down over his belt, a polyester shirt tucked in tight accentuating the bulge. Over it he wore a brown faux leather jacket, the material just a shade lighter than his bottle-tanned face.

  Opposite him was his partner, Martin Bishop, the quiet one of the pairing that closely resembled the skeleton yard decorations Reed’s parents still put out every Halloween. His skin was pale to the point of translucency, his hair buzzed to just an eighth inch all around.

  Standing a full half foot taller than his partner he weighed at least a hundred pounds less, his cheeks sunken and hollow.

  “Well, if it’s not Ace Ventura,” Iaconelli opened with, a sneer masked as a half smile on his face.

  Reed felt his grip on the leash grow tighter, glancing down to see his knuckles show white beneath the skin. The name was one the man had come up with some time before, a dated allusion to the old pet detective movies of the nineties. At the time nobody in house seemed to find it humorous except Bishop, which was more than enough for it to take hold.

  On cue, the oversized man let out a chortle, ensuring that it would continue further.

  Again he sensed Billie grow stiff, lowering herself an inch in height, her legs coiling to act if necessary.

  “Detectives,” Reed said, forcing his voice to remain neutral. He walked forward until a half dozen feet from the desk before stopping, raising his head upwards in a nod. “Hey, Jackie.”

  “Hey, Sugar,” she cooed, her mouth curled up in a smile as she stared at the odd couple before her. “How you two doing this evening?”

  At the mention of two, Reed glanced down at Billie, her attention still trained on the pair of detectives. “Excellent. You?”

  “I’m good,” she said,
raising a hand and fluffing out her plume of hair. “But you know me, I’m always good.”

  “Yeah,” Reed agreed, his voice low, already wanting the conversation to be over, feeling the accusatory glares of the men on his skin. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll be over on the desk for a while tonight.”

  The smile grew wider on Jackie’s face as she lowered her hand from her hair. “You know I don’t mind one bit. Be nice to have some company around here in the evening for a change.”

  The comment only served to deepen the scowls of Iaconelli and Bishop, the two exchanging a glance.

  “On the desk, huh?” Iaconelli said, his nose curling up in a snort. “Actually going to do some detective work today, are you?”

  Again Reed could feel his grip tighten on the leash, a dozen comments springing to mind. His nostrils flared as he pushed out a long breath, forcing himself not to lash out, not to succumb to the prodding.

  At every precinct there was always one pairing, one group that could be counted on to give the new guys a hard time.

  In the 8th, it was Iaconelli and Bishop, a grown-up bully and his lackey. For whatever reason they had decided to make Reed their target, regardless how hard he tried to stay out of their way.

  “Something like that,” Reed said, dismissing the man and his comment, fixing his attention on Jackie. “We’ll be down there if anything comes in tonight, alright?”

  She seemed to sense his impending anger and accepted the statement with a nod, watching as he retreated.

  “Yeah, you and your partner have a good evening, ya hear?” Iaconelli called as he went.

  Reed didn’t bother to respond.

  Chapter Ten

  Two distinct voices drifted out into the night, one male, one female. Their tone indicated the pair was definitely at odds, their respective volumes just shy of shouting. Every few moments the sound of something being thrown or glass breaking punctuated the argument, echoing through the small home and carrying out into the cold evening air.