The Deadliest Sins

by Rick Reed

  “I thought I told you never call me at work, honey,” Sanchez said.

  Liddell said. “I think I’m pregnant. Jack is, too. Damn you to hell, Lou.”

  Sanchez chuckled. “I heard about Chad Perkins from the ICE Queen. She knew the marshal was at your headquarters and had his panties in a twist. Man oh man, you guys weren’t kidding about Double Dick.”

  And so the rumor spreads, Jack thought.

  “Have you got something for me,” Sanchez asked, “or are you just checking your trotline?”

  “I was going to tell you about Chad Perkins and some other stuff.”

  Sanchez asked, “You think Perkins was killed before he could testify? He opened himself up when he fled protective custody.”

  “Nah. The marshal doesn’t think so either. I think it was our guy that killed him. And I’ve got some news on that front,” Jack said.

  “If you’re going to tell me about Cody Coté, you’re too late. The ICE Queen filled me in on that, too.”

  “So, I wasted my dime calling you,” Jack said.

  “I guess all you have to do now is figure out a way to find Cody Coté,” Sanchez said.

  “All I have to do? What will you be doing?”

  Jack could hear a beer can being crumpled and Sanchez saying, “Good girl. Now get me another.”

  “Let me change the subject,” Jack said. “What’s the word on Lieutenant Battle?” Jack couldn’t help but think he’d been in her exact situation a time or two.

  “Major Maddox put her on admin leave. But Maddox’s reputation is that he’s fair. She’ll probably be back at work after a little grief counseling. I told you I took her out once. Well, she was too intense for me. Always watching everyone. I don’t need that shit. I’m paranoid enough.”

  “Speaking of watching someone, is Kim still watching your witness?” Jack asked.

  “She’s not my witness, Jack. Kim is ready to defect. I think I’ll get Toomey to have her reassigned here by next week. Say what you will about the Feds, Toomey takes care of his guys.”

  Jack said, “Anna is taking the Border Patrol connection more serious.”

  “The dead driver’s ex-partner is the best suspect we have so far. But how are we going to track him down? You said your computer expert isn’t having any luck. Kim’s tied up babysitting.”

  “Couldn’t hurt, Lieutenant,” Jack said.

  “I’ll ask. It’ll give her something to take her mind off babysitting. I don’t think we’ll have much luck though. If this is the guy and he follows the same pattern from all the other cases, he’s long gone. He’s never hit a state twice until he got our state trooper.”

  Jack said, “She may have just been unlucky enough to come upon him. Maybe he was cleaning his bayonet in public?”

  Sanchez chuckled. “In Missouri it’s not against the law to do anything in public.”

  “I’ve heard that. After all, it is the Show-Me state,” Jack said.

  “Major Maddox told me earlier that his Crime Scene Unit thinks the people inside were killed first. The trooper was just unlucky to stop there.”

  “Maybe he didn’t like the food,” Jack said absentmindedly. “Did he leave a tip for the waitress?”

  Jack heard notebook pages riffling.

  Sanchez said, “The waitress had a new twenty-dollar bill in her pocket. They think they have a fingerprint. Could be the dead waitress’s though.”

  “Lieutenant, be sure they get that fingerprint to Anna as soon as they can. Now that we have a possible suspect, she may be able to get a match,” Jack said, thinking that Freyda had been given a new twenty-dollar bill also.

  “Yeah, unless this Coté guy is in Witness Protection too. But I’ll do it now,” Sanchez said. “And Jack.”

  “Yes.”

  “Stop with the Lieutenant stuff, okay?”

  “Okay, Lieutenant,” Jack said and hung up.

  Liddell had been listening. He said, “I guess we wait.”

  “We wait.”

  Chapter 37

  The Dodge Dart was parked in the University of Evansville campus lot again. Coyote had been careful to avoid any surveillance cameras. He’d had to avoid most of the main streets and take a circuitous route. His plan was to strike and move and strike again somewhere else. That had been his mantra for several years. It had served him well. But he couldn’t afford to fail tonight. Failing showed weakness. It didn’t serve his cause.

  Coyote left the car and found what he wanted in an unlocked pickup truck. The windows were down, and a Purple Aces hooded jacket was on the passenger seat. He pulled it on over the Indianapolis Colts jacket he was wearing and pulled a black sock hat over his ears. A tartan scarf covered the bottom half of his face.

  He crossed the street and walked with his gloved hands jammed in the jacket pockets. Two college students were walking south on Weinbach, and he fell in twenty feet behind them, matching their quick pace. They paid him no attention as he slipped into the alleyway beside the Coffee Shop. He peeked around the front and saw the lights were off, the CLOSED sign in the front window. No one was moving inside.

  He went to the back and climbed onto a chain-link fence that separated the back of the property from the one behind it. He walked the fence until he got close to the building next door, jumped up and caught the edge of the flat roof, and pulled himself onto it. The distance between the roof he was on and the Coffee Shop’s roof was less than six feet. He could easily make that. His big concern was noise. He saw a semitruck coming down Weinbach and waited until it began rumbling to a stop for the red light. As it passed in front of the Coffee Shop, he took a step back and leaped. He landed as softly as possible and lay flat for a minute, two minutes, three. He didn’t hear sirens, so he got up and made his way to the part of the roof where he’d seen Murphy earlier and found a square hatch. He lay flat again and listened. Nothing.

  He slowly lifted the tarpaper-covered hatch and, ignoring the ladder, dropped silently to the floor. He didn’t need to wait for his night vision to adjust. He could see he was in a musty closet. The door was cracked open. He could hear footsteps leaving the room. He eased the door further open and saw a shadow of a figure on the wall outside of the room.

  He went to the bedroom door and saw the old woman going down the stairs. She was still in that nasty robe or dress or whatever she had on. The lights were now on in the storage room. The lights came on in the front seating area. She went behind the counter, lit the gas stove, and was filling a steel coffee maker when Coyote stepped into the room.

  She didn’t scream. She set the pot down and stared at him.

  “You’re him,” she said in an even tone.

  He grabbed her by the front of her faded gown and pulled her into the storage room. “Yeah. You got me,” he said, and in one deft motion pulled the bayonet and plunged it into her throat, driving it downward.

  She didn’t struggle. She reached up and pulled at his scarf.

  “You want to see me?” he asked.

  Her expression didn’t change. Blood poured from the side of her mouth, and he helped her to a sitting position.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, and yanked the blade free, plunging it down again in a killing blow. “I’ll give you a quick death. You never done anything to me.”

  Her eyes remained staring up into his, but he could see she was gone.

  “I know you don’t understand, but you’re a part of my mission. You can help me finish here and get on with my work. You’re doing this for your country. For that, I thank you.” He yanked the bayonet free, wiped the blood on her front, and slid it back into the holster at his waist.

  He dragged her to the storage door and flipped the light switch, turning the lights in the front off again. He dragged her to one of the booths and leaned her in a sitting position against the wall facing the front door and windows.<
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  He left her there and took the stairs back to her bedroom. An old rotary-dial telephone was on a tiny table beside her bed. He picked the receiver up and heard a dial tone. He put the end of his scarf over the mouthpiece and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Police and Fire Emergency Dispatch,” came the voice on the phone. “What is your emergency?”

  “A woman has been injured.” He hung up. He was going to leave when he spotted the VHS recorder on a table in the corner. He ejected the tape, stuck it down in his shirt, and climbed back to the roof.

  Chapter 38

  The Crown Vic slid to the curb behind the crime scene wagon. Three police cars were in front of the Coffee Shop, parked nose-in, and the officers were setting up a perimeter. Traffic was blocked for two square blocks surrounding the scene. The cold had driven most of those living in the area inside, but some had come out to watch the Christmas-light show of the police response.

  Captain Franklin beat Jack and Liddell to the scene and stood beside the crime scene log officer at the front of the Coffee Shop. The inside was brightly lit with portable floodlights. As usual, Captain Franklin was dressed in a black suit, starched white shirt, red tie, and black wing tip shoes. His tie was uncharacteristically loosened.

  “It’s him, Jack,” Captain Franklin said. “He was here. Sergeant Walker is calling people in to work the scene, and I have every available uniformed officer and detective dispatched to scour the area. The crime scene techs think it just happened. Please tell me you have something.”

  “Who called it in?” Jack asked.

  Franklin said, “Dispatch got the 9-1-1 call from her phone. A man said a woman was hurt and hung up. What can you tell me, Jack?”

  “ICE is working on something, Captain,” Jack said. “A guy, ex-Border Patrol, matches the profile I had in mind. He was partnered with the dead driver in the St. Louis case. That guy was ex-Border Patrol too.”

  “I was aware of that, Jack,” the captain said.

  “I didn’t tell you yet because I didn’t want certain people to know.”

  “I understand, Jack, but now is not the time to keep me in the dark. If we have a suspect or a photo, I need to get it out to our people.”

  “We don’t have a photo yet, but Angelina is working on it,” Jack said, without mentioning his frustration with the Feds. “This guy and his partner were involved in the killing of an illegal alien from El Salvador. The Border Patrol officers’ names are Hank Brown—that’s the St. Louis driver—and Cody S. Coté. The guy from El Salvador was suspected of killing Coté’s wife and daughter. DOJ thought the murder of Coté’s family was a revenge killing because Coté had arrested this particular Salvadoran several times. Coté had a reputation for roughing illegals up. They suspected this guy of killing Coté’s family, but they couldn’t find him. A week after the murder, he turned up dead on our side of the border. Both Border Patrol officers were allowed to resign, and the record was sealed by the Department of Justice. No charges against the officers, no further investigation. The Salvadoran was stabbed just like our victims.”

  “Can you prove any of that?” Franklin asked.

  “I have it on good authority, Captain,” Jack said.

  “Go on,” Franklin said.

  “Hank Brown went to work for the same traffickers he had been arresting. Coté just disappeared, but his military experience and law enforcement records suggest he had the knowledge and skill needed to pull this off. The thing is, Captain, all the DOJ records on this incident are sealed.”

  “But you can get them,” Captain Franklin said. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know how you know this. What can I do to help?”

  “Maybe Marshal Swaim can get the records for us,” Jack suggested. “We would have fingerprints, photos, everything we need to make a good case. It’s a political issue, I know, but what’s more important?”

  “I assume ICE knows all of this?” Captain Franklin said.

  “If they do, they can’t get the records opened.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Franklin said. “But if I do, and if this Coté guy has an inside source...”

  “I’ve thought that over,” Jack said. “He has to have someone giving him the routes and dates for these trucks, but maybe we can get the information on Coté without him finding out. It’s a chance we have to take. I just want Coté. Let Border Patrol clean their own house.”

  “I agree, Jack.”

  “Captain, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see inside,” Jack said.

  Franklin moved aside, and Jack reached for the sign-in log. The log officer said, “I already put you and Detective Blanchard on the log, Jack.”

  Jack and Liddell put latex gloves on, and Jack tapped on the glass. Joanie Ryan was working the scene. She came to the door and said, “I’m nearly finished taking pictures, Detective Murphy. Give me two minutes, and I’ll walk you through.”

  Jack could see Freyda’s thin frame leaned against the wall near a booth. Her skinny arms were drooped at her sides. Her faded gown was soaked in blood.

  Joanie Ryan was a civilian EPD employee with forensic training. Jack had worked several high-profile cases with her, and she was as good or better than some of the old-timers.

  Jack gave her a thumbs-up and waited.

  Franklin said, “I haven’t been inside. Officer Thompson was first on scene. He didn’t find a pulse and just did a sweep inside to check for other victims and backed out.”

  “He did the right thing, Captain,” Jack said. “I’m going to make a call while we wait.” Jack walked a short distance away and sheltered at the corner of the alleyway to block the wind.

  “Angelina,” Jack said when the call was picked up.

  “This is Mark. I’ll get her.” The phone was handed off, and Angelina’s sleepy voice said, “Jack.”

  “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve got another murder. The woman at the Coffee Shop. I need to get a picture of Cody Coté to broadcast to the troops. Anything you can get.”

  “I thought Anna gave you his photo and information. She said she’d send it to your phone.”

  Jack checked his text messages. Whiteside had sent one that he hadn’t opened.

  “Shit. Can you send the picture and physical descriptors to dispatch? I’d do it, but I have a hard time with this...”

  “Don’t worry, Jack, I’ll get it now. I couldn’t find a vehicle registered to that name. He doesn’t have a driver’s license associated with his name. The last address I have is in Bisbee, Arizona, from his personnel file from Border Patrol. You want me to have dispatch send it down the wire to the other agencies?” Angelina asked.

  “You’re an angel. Please and thank you. And can you send his personnel file records to my phone?”

  “For all the good it will do,” Angelina said and was gone.

  He opened the photo Anna had sent an hour ago. The name attached to the picture was Cody Samuel Coté. Cody Coté? The photo was from his days as a Border Patrol agent. He was in uniform, wearing a cowboy-style cream-colored hat. His expression was all business with a face heavily lined and skin like leather. He reminded Jack of a Western cowboy. Same leathery, Marlboro-smoking type.

  Jack thought of Freyda Rademacher’s take-no-prisoner sense of humor that was rare these days. She was a tough old bird, but not tough enough.

  “Did anyone know Mrs. Rademacher’s surveillance camera was operational?” Jack asked Franklin.

  “Just the ones in the meeting earlier. You two, Walker, me, Toomey, the chief, and...”

  “Deputy Chief Dick,” Jack finished the sentence for him.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Jack, but none of that was released to the news media. I don’t think Deputy Chief Dick would talk to anyone about evidence,” Franklin said, but he didn’t sound convincing or convinced. “Especially after what happened earlier with Witness Protection.” />
  “If it’s our killer, why else did he come back and do this?” Jack asked.

  Franklin said, “Maybe he was worried that she might have seen his face. Channel Six said something about a witness in one of their broadcasts. I thought Claudine Setera was talking about the boy. Joe.”

  “The boy!” Jack said and grabbed Liddell’s arm. “Come on.”

  Joanie Ryan came to the door and called out, “You can come through now.” Seeing Jack’s and Liddell’s retreating figures, she said, “Or not.”

  Captain Franklin said, “I’ll have a detective here shortly. Did you see how the killer gained entry?”

  “Officer Thompson said he had to force the front door. He swept the place in case the killer was still here,” Joanie said, “but he didn’t say anything about unlocked doors or windows, sir.”

  Franklin called Jack’s cell phone and gave him that information.

  Jack and Liddell were already on Lincoln Avenue, Liddell driving, speeding west when Jack talked to Captain Franklin.

  “They didn’t find an entry point, Bigfoot,” Jack said and put the phone in his pocket.

  “Think she let him in?” Liddell suggested.

  “That café in St. Louis was open for business when he killed them. He locked the front door and turned off the OPEN sign.”

  “The CLOSED sign was in Freyda’s front door,” Liddell said. “Maybe she was still open?”

  “Maybe,” Jack admitted. “She was wearing night clothes. I don’t think she’d be working the shop dressed like that.” Jack called Captain Franklin again and asked if the heat was on downstairs. He heard the captain pass the question on to Joanie Ryan.

  He came back on and said, “Turned off, but still a little warm. The heat was on upstairs.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” Jack said.

  Franklin said quickly, “Don’t hang up, Jack. Where are you going? This is your crime scene.”

  “We’re going to check on Joe, Captain. I’ve got to go.” He disconnected the call and checked for recent calls on his cell phone. One had come in whose number he didn’t recognize earlier. He touched that number and heard a ringing.