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 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, sniffing, her tail and ears tucked low as she worked.
Remaining by the car, Reed watched, 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 16 hours before pulled up beside him.
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 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 sign 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.
“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 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 bitterness 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.
“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 who 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. “Most of them acted like we were crazy for even asking. Took it as some moral 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 small 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. He knew exactly what McMichaels meant, had seen many similar witnesses over the years. People who wanted to help, but had to balance that with the fact that once the investigation was over, they still needed to coexist with their neighbors.
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 into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll run once things cool off a bit.”
“Sorry we couldn’t be more help,” Jacobs said, taking a step back to 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 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. He closed his eyes and raised his face to 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 where he wanted to arrive early.
Chapter Nine
Under the cover of early morning darkness, there was nothing imposing about the 8th Precinct. Made of brick that had faded from decades of exposure to the elements, it resembled an old school house, with a roundabout out front and a flag pole standing dead center. At three stories high, triple rows of windows lined all four sides.
More important, at that hour most of the windows were dark, the majority of the stalls in the parking lot empty.
Just 12 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 employees filed out. Lumped into groups of two or three, they carried their backpacks 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 to the front door.
Few things in the world discouraged conversat
ion 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 stir 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 restrictive 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 body flexing along his thigh.
Side by side, they walked to the front door, crossing inside, Billie’s nails tapping out a rhythm on contact with the floor, drawing a few stares their way.
The interior of the first floor was designed in an office format, desk spaces and cubicles on either side. A few lamps still blazed brightly, though most of the occupants had vacated for the day.
The back half of the building had private offices for the captain and senior level staff. A set of double doors with frosted glass separated them from the front bullpen areas.
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 climbed the stairs, two at a time, coming out on the second floor.
Similar to the first floor, the space was cut in two, the back half used for the evidence room. The left side was desk space for detectives, most of them standing empty much of the time.
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 white-blonde hair standing in a halo around her head. Bright pink lipstick framed gleaming teeth, a smile stretched across her face.
The sources of her amusement 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.
Reed headed for the opposite end of the building, 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 as he twisted around to face her.
The exclamation also turned Jackie’s visitors around to look at him, any levity the previous conversation had brought, 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 who 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 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 who liked to refer to himself as a throwback, to mask the fact that his lifestyle and his wardrobe were both stuck in the ‘70s. Weighing somewhere north of 250 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 pair who closely resembled the skeleton yard-decoration Reed’s parents 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 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, 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 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 ‘90s. 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 obese detective let out a chortle, ensuring that it would continue further.
Again, Reed 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 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. “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 pair, one group who 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 of 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, 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.
Tucked away behind the free-standing garage next to the house, the Boat Man sat and listened to every word, waiting for the opportune moment. With each sound of dissension that floated out, the feeling of satisfaction welled within him.
The joy that came with the elimination of this target wouldn’t only be felt by him.
Cloaked in black and wearing gloves, the Boat Man sat with one shoulder leaning against the rear of the garage, the rotting wood splintering beneath his weight.
Concealed between a pair of ragged box hedges, there was no concern of detection. After the events of the previous night, though, and all that was about to unfold, it would only be a matter of time before the p
olice made a connection between the two.
Now, more than ever, it was vital that he not become sloppy and leave something behind for them to work with.
Not with so much still left to do.
“I told you, we were just talking!” the male inside bellowed, rage creeping in to his voice.
“It sure as hell didn’t look like talking to me!” the woman replied, her voice just shy of a shriek. “What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten there when I did?”
The question brought a hint of a smile to the Boat Man’s face. The woman’s absence was what had allowed him to get into position so easily, finding the spot just after dusk, unnoticed by the darkened homes nearby.
The target was the second in as many nights, chosen for his place in the hierarchy.
Unlike his previous victim, the scouting had been easy for this one. There was no need to watch for patterns or determine a time when he could find the man alone.
Everything the Boat Man needed was less than 10 feet away, pacing back and forth in the yard, the sound of its chain dragging across the ground, audible between outbursts from the home.
Drawing his legs up beneath him, the Boat Man climbed to his feet, peering out from around the edge of the garage.
“Dammit, I told you. Nothing!” the man called again.
The Boat Man slid his head around the side of the building to peer up at the house.
It was a one-story with a porch and wooden siding. Much like the structure he now leaned against, it appeared to be aging badly, in dire need of paint.
Framed in the kitchen window, the Boat Man saw a pair of silhouettes move back and forth, both with arms flailing. He waited, watching as the two grew closer, one lashing out at the other with an open hand.
All sound fell away as the Boat Man watched the scene play out, his resolve growing stronger as his heart rate picked up just slightly.
It was time.
Extricating himself from behind the garage, he crept heel-to-toe to the small wooden dog house between the home and garage. Just beyond the reach of the overhead street lamp, it remained shrouded in darkness, its occupant moving back and forth in silence.
The Boat Man: A Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 1) Page 4