“So where do they park?” Glenn asked.
“On the street,” Porter said, both shoulders rising in a shrug. “Or in the overflow parking out back.”
Rotating her head at the neck, Glenn glanced over at Reed, the look even more pronounced on her features. “Are there cameras back there?”
“I don’t know,” Porter said, “but I doubt it. It’s basically just a big concrete pad backing up to an empty lot. Doesn’t even have parking spots painted on it.”
“Great,” Glenn muttered, raising a hand and running it back through the side of her hair. “Were you able to get anything from the house this morning?”
“Nothing so far,” Porter said. “Pretty surprising really, damn near everything in the house belongs to one of the Westons. Place like that, you’d figure there’d be a housekeeper, a chef, somebody else, but we didn’t find anything except from the deputies that showed up and untied her last night.”
“Son of a bitch,” Glenn spat, once more running her hand back through her hair. She rotated in place and looked out at the crowd, again realizing they were watching her every move, before lowering her hand and trying to play it cool.
“Odds of you finding anything in the car we can use?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Porter said, offering another shrug. “He was pretty careful at the house, but a car is different. Almost impossible to climb in and out, be seated for that long, and not leave behind a hair or something.”
Reed nodded, having heard the same explanation a time or two from Earl.
He remained silent a moment, mulling over what Porter had just said about the house. He allowed his gaze to gloss over, his mind piecing together the care that was taken, the effort to make sure nothing was left behind.
“What are you thinking?” Glenn asked, the question drawing Reed from his trance.
Without answering he shifted to Porter and asked, “Tell me, did you happen to just come straight from the Weston house?”
Chapter Thirty
The crime scene van was a plain white paneled model, the same kind that Earl drove, the same as every other unit in the greater Columbus area. Reed couldn’t help but smirk as he saw it sitting just outside the yellow police tape, an eyesore in the picturesque community. He imagined that somewhere there was an entire fleet of matching vehicles, all stretched out, ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice.
The rear door wrenched open with a harsh shriek of rusted metal, loud enough to bring winces from Reed and Glenn both as Porter pushed it open. Diving in head first, he pressed his hands onto the rubber mat in the back of the van, climbing forward on all fours before reaching a particular grey plastic bin and dragging it back toward the bumper.
One foot at a time he retreated to the ground before pulling the box over against the front of his thighs and unclasping the hasp. Reed watched in silence as he opened the top, a bevy of sealed plastic bags inside, and began to rifle through.
Less than a minute later he found what he was looking for at the bottom of the container.
The bag was one of the larger inside the bin, over a foot in length. Made of clear plastic, a white label was affixed to the outside, writing in black marker strewn across it.
Inside was a coil of rope of indeterminate length, all spooled up tight. Constructed of a trio of braided strands, it was solid white in color, just a few slight smudges of red present.
“Okay, you know I can’t let you take this, or even really let it out of my own hands,” Porter said. The words and the expression on his face both showed he was uneasy with what he was doing, his gaze flicking past Reed, tracking for anybody that might be nearby.
“I know,” Reed said, “and trust me, I’m not trying to mess up the chain of custody. If there’s anything viable on there, we’re going to need it to build a case.”
Maintaining the integrity of evidence was one of the first things they had been taught at the academy, a maxim that was hammered home to the point of annoyance every chance the department got thereafter.
“I actually don’t even need to get within two feet of it, I just need her to get a few good hits of it,” Reed said, nudging the top of his head toward Billie.
The look of uncertainty remained on Porter’s face. “I don’t know. Like I said, this guy is careful. I doubt it will work.”
“Doesn’t matter how careful he is,” Reed said, “he can’t hide from her.”
There was more he could have added, a veritable wealth of knowledge he had accumulated in the previous 10 months about the power of his partner’s senses. Instead he let it go with a small smile, watching as Porter peeled open the top flap of the evidence bag and extended it to Billie.
On cue, the dog leaned forward and dipped her muzzle just above it, taking in great long pulls. She stood completely still a long moment, only the sides of her nostrils moving, before stepping back and looking up at Reed.
She had it. She was ready.
“What is this for again?” Glenn asked, watching the entire thing play out, a look on her face much closer to Porter’s than Reed’s.
“She’s going to tell us where he went after he dropped her car off,” Reed said. “If nothing else, we’ll know if there’s anything we can hope to get off the security cameras. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and he dropped something along the way.”
He didn’t wait for a response, sensing the building energy in Billie, anxious to get going.
“Search,” he commanded, the word coming out sharp and loud, Glenn and Porter both flinching slightly.
The word was still in the air as Billie shot forward. She began to swing side to side in a sweeping motion, her feet moving quickly, her nose pointed toward the ground. She drew in one long breath after another, tugging for more leeway from her partner.
Under optimal circumstances Reed would have her on the long leash, allowing her a full eight feet of length, anchoring it to his belt, or even better, would have let her run free. Given the confines of the plaza though, and the sheer congestion of people and cars around, he couldn’t do that. Instead he did his best to stay in lockstep with her, allowing her to draw him forward.
Covering a path more than six feet wide, Billie pushed forward through the cordoned off area, searching like a canine metal detector. She pressed forward for more than half the length of the lot, showing no signs of recognition until she was just a few feet from the car.
Reed knew it the moment she picked up the scent, a visible charge passing through her body. No longer did she swing her attention from side to side, instead focusing on a single point before her. With her nose lowered inches from the ground, her body moved into a coiled stance, pulling straight ahead, moving diagonally away from the Audi in a direct line.
“She got something?” Glenn said, her voice much closer than Reed realized.
Turning over his shoulder, Reed offered only a smile, not wanting to distract Billie, not risking the sound of his voice interrupting her search.
He could hear Glenn’s shoes hit against the asphalt as she jogged to catch up, falling in beside him. Together the odd trio continued across the open swath of concrete, moving for the corner of the lot.
“Clear those people away,” Reed hissed, keeping his voice low. “Looks like we’re going around back.”
With a nod Glenn jogged out in front of them, pulling her credentials from her hip. She waved them over head and entreated people to move back, Reed watching her movements but unable to hear her words, the sounds swallowed up by the ambient noise of the crowd.
Bending at the waist, Reed passed beneath the outer edge of the cordoned off area, Billie pulling him straight ahead. On either side of him the crowd was peeled back, people staring slack jawed at what they were seeing, as if he was a modern day Moses walking through the Red Sea.
Ahead of him he could see Glenn continuing to make sure folks stayed back, the crowd thinning.
By the time they made the edge of the Plaza, most everybody was in their wake. Reed cou
ld feel their stares on his back as Billie continued to move on, her entire being singularly focused on the scent in her nostrils. She used it to propel them both forward, walking around the edge of the end unit in the Plaza.
The backside of the strip mall was exactly as Porter had warned, nothing more than an open expanse of concrete. There were no markings of any kind painted on the ground, no curbs or ties to demarcate the movement of traffic.
A little more than half of the space was full as they made the corner, Billie hitting it at a trot. She pushed straight past the first three rows and onto the fourth, moving past a pair of trucks and an SUV.
Further still she pushed before pulling up abruptly.
At least 20 feet of open ground separated them from the nearest automobile.
“What?” Glenn asked, coming up alongside them. She was panting slightly from the combined effects of the impromptu jog and pushing the crowd back, her hair whipping around her face. “What happened?”
Reed waited before answering, watching as Billie moved side to side, hoping to pick it up again.
After a moment she lowered her backside to the ground, staring up at him.
“This is where he was parked,” Reed said. “Trail runs out here.”
“You’re sure?” Glenn asked.
“Positive,” Reed said. “He was parked around back so his car was off-camera. Dropped hers back when he knew it wouldn’t be noticed, came and retrieved his.”
“Dammit,” Glenn muttered, pressing her fists into her hips, the bottom of her suit jacket bunching around her wrists.
“Careful,” Reed said, echoing the word Porter had used just moments before.
An angry snort rolled from Glenn as she walked a few steps past Billie. She aimed her attention at the ground and extended a toe in front of her, swinging it back and forth.
“Anything?” Reed asked.
“Nope,” Glenn responded, venom beginning to appear in her voice.
“We’ll have to mark this off and have Wade come take a look anyway.”
“Yeah,” Glenn said, raising her face toward the sky. She closed her eyes and remained in place a moment. “Have I mentioned yet that this guy is really starting to piss me off?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Big had referred to it as the Blood Tingle, that feeling that always came right before things started, that permeated the entire body. It was as inevitable as the outcome itself, nature’s way of sharpening the nerves, of bringing everything into clear focus.
For The Kid, the preferred term was the Scalp Itch. He could certainly see where Big had come up with Blood Tingle, though for him the feeling wasn’t quite as systemic. His hands, his feet, even his internal organs, weren’t affected. They remained completely even, as steely as his resolve, impervious to the outside world.
He could be changing his oil or checking his email or kidnapping Diedra Weston, his interworking didn’t care.
Where he always felt it was along his scalp. It began right at the nape of his neck, traveling up and outward, following his hair line, passing along his ears and over the crown of his head. From there it converged right along his brow, the entire top part of his skull itching, feeling as if it might catch fire at any moment.
When that arrived, The Kid knew game time was imminent. He knew that he was just moments away from doing something that mattered, that required every system in his body working in concert.
The Scalp Itch had not yet taken full hold, but it was just starting. The Kid could feel it arising along his hair line, just above his shoulders. It lingered in slight bursts, the sensation much the same as a foot or hand that had fallen asleep, the nerve endings writhing in anticipation.
Just as fast it dissipated, his body going through a practice run, much the same as he was.
The right corner of The Kid’s mouth twitched as he felt tingling rise and ebb, his back pressed against the dimpled stucco of the freestanding garage just outside the home of his next target. In front of him hung a heavy canopy of vines, their leaves brittle, already turned brown but not yet fallen for the winter.
Tucked behind them, he knew he was invisible to anybody that didn’t know to look for him, whether they be standing at the kitchen window less than 10 feet away or even strolling along the walkway just beyond arm’s reach.
Of all the targets thus far, this was the easiest. The schedule that was kept made gaining access painfully simple, so much so that it almost removed any amount of fun for The Kid.
The arrogance the target carried made it so that security at the home was nowhere what it should be for anybody, let alone someone in their position. It was the third time The Kid had been on the property, the spot he was now tucked away in such an obvious hide that it showed the lack of awareness the target employed.
This was the final scouting run for The Kid, a result more of his growing boredom with watching the camera than the actual need to be onsite. He didn’t expect to discover a single thing differing from the previous trips he’d made, not one detail that he hadn’t spent the entire afternoon observing.
His presence was born from his need to be doing something. He had never been known for his ability to sit still, a trait Big had always tried to caution him about, saying it might one day be his undoing.
Whether or not that would ever come to pass The Kid wasn’t sure, but he was reasonably certain this would not be that day. Especially not with tomorrow so close, with the culmination of everything he’d been working for inching steadily onward.
The end was near. So very near.
For him, and for Big.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Reed had a headache. Two trips between the extreme opposite corners of the Columbus metro area meant he and Billie had spent the better part of four hours in the car on the day, most of it fighting a heavy slog of stop-and-go movement. He could tell by the incessant fussing in the backseat that Billie was becoming of the same mind as he, both of them anxious to be out of the metal confines of the sedan.
Adding to the pounding in his head was the directive from Grimes to stop by his office as soon as he could get there. The clock on the front dash said it was only a few minutes after 6:00, well within the time frame Grimes was normally still in the building, but he could tell by the strained tone that it was a mandate and not a request.
He needed to get to the precinct, and he needed to be quick about it.
A dozen different thoughts ran through Reed’s mind as he finished the loop around the outer belt of the city and wound through the side streets of Franklinton, skirting the edge of The Bottoms en route to the 8th.
At the top of the list was everything that was happening with Weston, from the extreme care that was taken by the killer not to leave behind a single fiber of anything useful to the odd fact that he had let Diedra Weston live. Adding to it was the realization at the lot, that just like with his own case, the killer had taken a chance by securing a car, but had been successful in leaving them absolutely nothing to go on from it.
The thought brought a sour taste to Reed’s mouth as he thought back to his own case, the heightening tension from the fact that two of his colleagues, arguably the two people outside of Grimes and Jackie that he worked with the most, were both still in the hospital. That meant that every last person in the station was feeling the strain, all looking to him to get things figured out.
Underscoring it even more, try as Reed might to keep it suppressed, was his own history with the loss of a partner threatening to bubble up at any moment. Thus far he had managed to keep thoughts of Riley at a minimum, the lone exception being his conversation with Bishop, but he knew they were never far from the surface, waiting to consume him.
The light in Grimes’s office burned bright in the first floor corner of the 8th as Reed pulled up, eschewing the parking lot for the visitor stalls out front. He slid to a stop using the same spot he had just two nights before after first leaving the hospital, already the event seeming like a lifetime ago.
<
br /> Beside it was parked a plain black sedan with government plates that Reed had never seen before, though a sense of déjà vu settled in upon viewing it, feeling like he had seen many similar to it in the years prior. For a moment he sat behind the wheel and stared before shaking his head clear of the thought and climbing out.
Forgoing the use of any lead, Reed let Billie out of the back, the two of them going for the front door in unison. Together they moved straight past the bullpen of the lower level and into the executive suite of the precinct, finding Grimes’s office door open, light spilling into the hallway, an unfamiliar voice accompanying it.
Putting himself between Billie and the door, Reed tapped lightly on the frame twice, a thin noise sounding out, just enough to draw Grimes’s attention toward him. He raised his chin upward once to let the captain know he was present before taking a step back, ready to retreat to the bench in the hallway until the meeting that was going on was concluded.
“Detective,” Grimes called, stopping Reed less than a step back from the door, “you guys can come on in.”
Glancing down to Billie, Reed patted the outside of his thigh once before stepping into the office. Grimes made no effort to stand as he entered, instead flicking his gaze over to the chairs across from his desk, Reed following the lead.
Seated across from Grimes was a middle-aged man with blue-black hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow, a smell cleft in his chin. He stood as Reed entered, stopping even with the bridge of Reed’s nose.
He was a few inches wider than Reed and wearing a suit without the jacket, his tie loosened and his cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms.
“Dan Gilmore, FBI,” the man said, shoving a hand in Reed’s direction, making it very clear from his stance and introduction that Reed was supposed to be impressed.
“Detective Reed Maddox, my partner Billie.”
Gilmore flashed a quick glance to Billie before returning his gaze, a hint of an eye roll passing over his features.
The Kid: A Suspense Thriller (Reed & Billie Book 3) Page 14