Wrath (The Lieutenant Harrington Series Book 1)

by E. H. Reinhard

  “That’s the name of the deceased out there, yes.”

  “What does she look like? Description, age?”

  Dave asked for both. He took the mouthpiece from his face and looked at me. “Thirty-four, five eight, one twenty-eight. Long brown hair, brown eyes. The address is in Hialeah.”

  “Shit. Does she look like a personal trainer?” I asked. “Fit? Drive a newer blue Hyundai sedan?”

  Dave asked then nodded. “Dressed for the gym, Burns said. Hyundai parked in the driveway.”

  “Shit,” I said again. I dug my palm into my eye.

  “You know her?”

  I nodded. “I think so. I think she’s one of my girlfriend’s friends. Does Burns have my number?”

  Dave asked and confirmed.

  “Have him text me her address and sheet if he has it. I need to look her up and make sure it’s her.”

  “Sure,” Dave said. “Here.” He tossed me the keys to his unmarked cruiser.

  I walked to his car and hopped in. The message from Burns hit my phone a moment later. I punched Laurie Jillette’s name into the computer along with her address. I was already ninety-nine point nine percent sure it was her. A second later, the figure turned to one hundred. I stared at her driver’s license photo on the screen of the car’s computer. “Son of a bitch,” I said. I wanted some more information, from Burns at the scene, before I made a call to Amy. I dialed his number. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

  “Burns,” he said.

  “Hey, it’s Harrington.”

  “You know her?” he asked.

  “Yeah. She was a friend of my girlfriend. What can you tell me?”

  “Unfortunately, not a ton. She was found lying in front of her car. Two stab wounds to the chest and one to the throat. Someone wanted her dead, plain and simple. Her purse, phone, everything was just lying here, undisturbed.”

  “Who found her?” I asked.

  “Neighbor woman. Saw her lying here. Came over, but I’m guessing she’d been there for hours by that time. Coroner put her TOD about five or six hours ago.”

  I looked down at my watch. The TOD would put her death around dinnertime.

  “And no one saw anything? No video, no murder weapon, no strange cars in the neighborhood, no leads, no nothing?”

  Burns was quiet for a moment. “Sorry, LT. We got nothing right now. The crime lab was here and did their thing. We searched every yard and trash bin on the block. Same goes for door knocking. We went to every house. I mean, we’re basically waiting to see what the crime lab gets from her phone. It’s really the only thing we have to work with unless someone comes out of the woodwork.”

  “Businesses with cameras in the area?” I asked.

  “We have the phone, Lieutenant.”

  “Shit,” I said. My eyes were locked on her DL photo on the screen. I didn’t know how I was going to break the news to Amy. “Thanks, Burns.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  I clicked off from the call and rocked my head back and forth on the headrest. I pulled up my call log, hit Amy’s number, and pressed Talk. The phone rang in my ear repeatedly.

  CHAPTER 23

  The night air was cool and damp, like driving through a cloud. My arm that had been hanging out of the window was wet. Water and fog built on the Bronco’s windshield. The wipers didn’t do a thing to get rid of it, and the truck’s defroster probably hadn’t worked since the mid-eighties—it was on my list of things to be fixed. Lucky had her face out of the window and, I was fairly certain, a stream of slobber spattering all over the passenger side of my truck. I’d stayed on the scene for another half hour or so after I got off the phone with Amy. She didn’t answer the first two times I called, and I debated just sitting on the information until morning. I tried a third time, and she woke up to answer. I broke the news to her. I listened to her cry and ask questions that I didn’t have answers for. All I could tell her was that I was sorry and we would do our damnedest to find whoever the hell did it.

  I pulled up to my house around midnight. Lucky and I went straight inside. She barked and darted around the house from one spot to the next. I stopped and watched her for a second. Her behavior was weird. She sniffed and went from room to room as if searching for something. I gave the entire house a quick once-over, looking for any kind of critter that could have gotten in. I even had a quick look around my home office, the door of which always remained closed. Lucky took great pleasure in nosing through my office trash and shredding bits of scrap paper across the floor every time she stepped paw into the room.

  With no signs of anything unusual, I chalked Lucky’s behavior up to a lizard or skink or frog getting in. All the windows were open, albeit screened. In the winter months, I liked to get some fresh air in the place and give the A/C unit a rest. Besides the fresh air, we often left the sliding patio door open so Lucky could come and go into the backyard. Glancing at the back patio door, I figured my theory of a critter getting in was probably correct—I’d forgotten to close it before I left.

  Lucky continued sniffing and darting from one spot to the next. Her actions were somewhat comical. “Get ’em, girl. Hunt,” I said. “You find ’em.”

  I pulled off my suit jacket and tossed it on the couch arm. I shook my head and walked to my bedroom. I was beat.

  “C’mon, pup,” I said. Lucky usually slept with Amy and me, and just me before Amy moved in. Lucky made a hell of a foot warmer and usually managed to weasel her body up to the pillows by morning. But this time she didn’t come, choosing to continue her search for whatever she was after. “Suit yourself,” I said.

  I got ready for bed—service weapon put away in the safe, badge on the dresser, teeth brushed, basketball shorts on, lights out. I climbed into bed and reached over to set my alarm for six. Five and a half hours of sleep was plenty. I grabbed the TV remote and flicked the television on to the Crime and Punishment channel. I never looked at the screen, but from the sound, the show was about a pair of murderous teen lovers. I arranged my pillow under my head and felt Lucky come in and jump up onto the bed a moment later. I flipped over and did my best to fall asleep while not thinking about the case—it was an art I had yet to master. Details about the homicides and visions of the victims flickered through my mind. I rolled over and looked at the clock—fifteen minutes had passed. Questions about the case ran through my head. What were Mercer’s motivations for killing the neighbor and assaulting the cop? Who had he searched for on the patrol car computer, and why? Those were the questions I really wanted answers for. Lucky moved around, breaking my concentration on sleeping. I looked at the clock again—twenty-two more minutes had passed. I grabbed the remote and flicked off the television as if it had any bearing on me not being able to find sleep. I flopped onto my back and faced the ceiling. I’d been in the position for probably a half hour and was starting to actually feel on the edge of sleep when a sound caught my attention. It snapped me awake as if someone had jammed smelling salts under my nose. I opened my eyes and stared up. In my half-asleep state, I tried to process what the sound was. It almost sounded like a door squeak. Either that or I could have been imagining that was what it sounded like.

  I heard Lucky’s low growl and felt her stand up on the bed. She woofed, which sounded more like a puff of air being let out than an actual bark. Whatever the sound I heard that had snapped me awake, she’d heard it as well and was tuned in.

  Another sound came, a kind of rustle.

  Lucky woofed again.

  The second sound wasn’t the same as the first, but it was definitely something. An animal, maybe.

  “Hmm,” I mumbled. Perhaps whatever had gotten into the house was bigger than a lizard. A mouse or possum or raccoon. I dismissed the thought. I’d been through the place. Anything bigger than a mouse and the dog would have been on it. And if it had been a mouse, I would think she’d have gotten a good scent and hunted it down.

  I heard a rattle and what sounded like the thumb lever for the front d
oor—someone was trying to get in. Amy had said nothing of coming home when we spoke. I reached over and hit the button on my phone. The screen lit up the room. The phone showed no messages. If it was Amy coming in, she would have called or sent a message at minimum. No one other than her would be at my house at that hour, and damn well no one who would be trying to get in.

  I kicked off my blankets and put my feet on the floor. Attached to my nightstand on the side closest to my bed was a gun vault. I clicked in the four-digit code, and the door dropped open. I pulled the pistol from inside and waited. The thought that someone would try to break into my home didn’t seem right to me. I lived in a nice area. The city crime statistics were low, plus I was a damned cop. My backyard was fenced, and each of my neighbors and I had motion lights. I heard another sound—that one, I was certain of. It was my front door squeaking, which it did as it was closing and only when it was being closed extra slow.

  Lucky let out a bark and leapt from the bed.

  “Hey,” I said quietly through a clenched jaw. She didn’t pay me any attention. She shot out of my bedroom and ran through the house. I had no idea what she would actually do in the event of an intruder—anything from “lick them and roll over for a belly rub” to “maul them and tear their face off” was an option.

  I stood up from my bed and walked to the bedroom door. I put my back to the wall beside it and brought my pistol up.

  “Hey, pup,” I heard. “Did you miss me, girl?” The question, coming from a female voice, was followed by a hard sniff.

  I let out a breath, flicked on my bedroom lights, and walked my weapon back to the gun vault to put it away. The voice belonged to Amy. By the time I turned around, she was standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “What were you just doing?” she asked.

  “Putting my gun away,” I said. “Amy, when I wake up to the sounds of someone trying to get in, I get a gun.”

  “I live here,” she said.

  “I know you do. Except you were an hour away, and you didn’t mention coming home.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been on the phone since I got off with you. I called my mom.”

  She walked over and wrapped me in a hug. “Sorry if I surprised you,” she said. “I wanted to be here with you and not at my sister’s. I just… I just can’t believe this. Who the hell would want to hurt Laurie?”

  I held her tight and kissed her on the forehead. She stared up at me. Her big eyes were pink, welled with tears. “I don’t know, Amy. We’ll find out who did this, though.”

  “Does her family know?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. The medical examiner would be the one who would notify next of kin.”

  Amy dug her face into my chest and cried.

  My work had never touched my own life personally. I’d delivered the “We’ll find out who did this” line to strangers on I didn’t know how many occasions—hundreds. Having to say it to my girlfriend, who was obviously in pain, was something different.

  CHAPTER 24

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Chris muttered. He slowly and quietly moved his leg and slipped it between a bowling ball bag and some shoes on the closet floor. He’d found himself hiding in the office closet of a damn police lieutenant—a police lieutenant that he’d spoken with on the phone earlier in the night, and one who just happened to live with that bitch Amy Solvo. The cop had returned home and gone to bed—he was alone aside from a dog. Chris had heard the man speaking to the dog an hour or so earlier. He heard the dog barking and running around. He heard the cop come into the very room where he was hiding in the closet. What Chris never heard was a woman’s voice. Amy wasn’t there, and Chris would have to spend the night in a closet, trying to be silent so the cop a room over wouldn’t hear him and arrest him or kill him for being in his home. It was either hunker down and remain quiet or try to leave undetected.

  He shook his head, thinking back to what had led him exactly where he was at that moment. Hours earlier, he’d had the taxi drop him off down the block from the house. He walked to the address he’d gotten for Amy from the cop car. Chris went straight to the front door with his knife in hand. His doorbell rings and his knocks weren’t answered—no one appeared to be at home.

  After gaining entry to the property through the back patio, he figured he’d wait inside. On the patio, Chris learned that she obviously lived with a man. The backyard grill and bar area with a television didn’t strike him as anything a woman would construct. Once he was inside the house, it took only a moment or two of snooping to find something that stopped him cold. The mail on the kitchen table was addressed to a Nash Harrington. Chris had seen the name earlier in the day on the business card for the cop that John, his neighbor, had brought over. It was too much of a coincidence to simply ignore.

  In a bedroom that had been set up as an office, police service awards, along with photos of the cop in uniform, hung from the walls. There were more photos of Amy and the cop in street clothes. The cop was her boyfriend. The odds of this happening were astronomical. It was as if the world had set it all in motion for him to be captured. Chris couldn’t believe it.

  He thought about leaving immediately, yet the longer he stood there staring at a photo of Amy’s face, the more he wanted to see it in the flesh while he slid a knife into her and ended her life. There was going to be a time when she’d be there and the cop wouldn’t. Chris decided to wait. After rummaging through the fridge and pantry, he grabbed some snacks and water and found a hiding spot—the office closet. The closet shared a wall with the living room. Chris figured he’d be able to sit inside and hear what was going on in the main area of the house. When he heard her and not the cop, he’d come out and say hello. Yet all he heard was the cop and a dog.

  Rubbing his eyes in the darkness, Chris shook his head and let out a big breath that he did his best to keep silent. He wanted to leave. He’d made a poor decision. He’d come back when the time was right. He’d watch the home from afar. Chris slowly brought one leg toward himself then the other. He knelt in the closet and turned the door handle as slowly as he could. Chris pushed the door outward. The hinges squealed. Chris winced and froze. He heard a woof from the dog.

  Chris mouthed a profanity. He pulled the door handle back and remained silent. He didn’t move a muscle. A moment later he heard the dog woof again, then the front door of the house open, then the dog bark and run for whoever came in. Chris heard a woman’s voice talking to the dog. He heard footsteps come past the office.

  “What were you just doing?” he heard the woman ask.

  “Putting my gun away,” the guy said. “Amy, when I wake up to the sounds of someone trying to get in, I get a gun.”

  “I live here,” she said.

  “I know you do. Except you were an hour away, and you didn’t mention coming home.”

  That was all Chris needed to hear. He’d said her name, and it was her. Chris latched the closet door and took his seat on the closet’s carpet. He listened to the two talk. She knew about Laurie. Chris wondered if she knew that he’d come for her as well. After all, he never would have started a relationship with Laurie if it hadn’t first been for Amy cheating on him and dumping him.

  CHAPTER 25

  My alarm had awakened me an hour earlier. I’d called Dave for an update as soon as I got up. He’d already picked up the autopsy reports for Mercer’s wife and the neighbor and had copies of them for me at the office. There wasn’t a ton to report on the neighbor, but the wife, Grace Mercer, had traces of sodium hydroxide—a common chemical in drain cleaner—in her stomach. Why or how we didn’t know, though the drain cleaner wasn’t what had killed her. Craig Town, our night shift crime lab guy on scene, confirmed that Grace Mercer had been murdered in the kitchen of their home—the scene had been cleaned up but was fairly easy to find once he started looking, he’d said. There had been no signs of Chris Mercer or his vehicle.

  Dave had mentioned Amy coming in to give us some background on her friend.
I agreed that it would be a good idea and told him I’d run it by her. Dave had also said he’d gotten some information about the prostitute. We’d got an ID, and her name was Susanne Osborne. She was twenty-nine. The woman was from somewhere in Virginia. The night shift motel worker hadn’t seen her in a week or so, he’d said. Dave said that he didn’t put much stock in the guy’s story, but he didn’t have anything to prove otherwise, either. I told him to bring me up to speed on it when I arrived.

  I filled myself a cup of coffee, my third of the morning, and sat at the breakfast bar. Amy was making a breakfast smoothie concoction. The color was some shade of electric green.

  “Want some?” she asked.

  “Nah, I’ll pass.”

  Amy had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a little pair of shorts that I could barely see underneath an old ripped-up T-shirt that I used for working on cars. “It’s good for you,” she said. “It’s cucumber, mint, honeydew, broccoli, and green grapes.”

  “I like grapes,” I said. “I could do without the rest of the stuff, though.”

  “You need to start eating better.”

  I nodded. The topic of eating better was a common one. Amy did a far better job of it than I did. “The next grocery trip, we’ll try to limit the garbage,” I said.

  “Good.” Amy walked over and gave me a hug.

  “What do you have going on this morning?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I thought about trying to get in touch with Laurie’s mom, but I think I should maybe give her a day or two and then reach out with my condolences.”

  “Whenever you feel is the right time,” I said.

  Amy took her arms from around my neck and scooped up her drink from the counter.

  “When do you have to go in today?” I asked.

  “I don’t work until eleven.” Amy took a big gulp from her green drink.

  “I’d like you to come to the office with me this morning.”