Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  He smiled. ‘Now there’s the cop I remember. She closed on the house about a month after Silas went down and Lippman’s list came out.’

  ‘Culp wasn’t on Lippman’s list. But maybe his ex-wife could prove he should have been?’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Yates is drafting subpoenas for the ex-wife and her shopping buddies in case they don’t cooperate.’

  ‘I’d like to be there when she’s questioned. I want her to put a face with the crimes her husband’s done and that she’s enabled by not coming forward. I also want to be there when we question Scott himself.’

  ‘I’d like you to be there, too. I want to see if there’s any regret at all in Culp’s eyes when we tell him that Rossi used his intel with the intent to murder a seven-year-old.’

  Stevie’s stomach turned over. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a look at the scene in the back bedroom before we head over to Culp’s house.’

  She’d gotten ten feet away when Hyatt’s voice came rumbling at her back. ‘Remember what I said about putting the oxygen mask on yourself first, Stevie.’

  She jerked a nod. ‘I will.’

  Sunday, March 16, 2.05 P.M.

  Sam Hudson approached Dina Andrews’s desk in the ballistics department with heavy feet and a sense of impending doom.

  She looked up when his shadow fell over her keyboard. ‘You got my message?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. The gun I gave you this morning turned up a match.’

  ‘It’s a cold case. The rifling matched a bullet taken from an unidentified Caucasian male found floating in the Severn River in May, just under eight years ago.’

  I couldn’t have done this. I would remember dragging a body to the Severn River.

  Still the feeling of impending doom loomed. ‘Do you have the ME’s report?’

  ‘No. I just pulled the police report. You’ll need to go to the ME’s office for the pathologist’s report. Sam, are you all right?’

  He nodded. ‘Just fine. Thanks for running this, Dina.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She studied him. ‘You know who left the gun for you, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Only that it had to be someone who knew where I lived.’ Which was true. They’d sent the envelope to his mother’s address and he’d once lived there.

  ‘I have to report my findings, you know. I can’t just forget about this.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. But can you give me a few days? I need to get a feel for who left it for me. I have a good relationship with the folks in the neighborhood.’

  ‘I can give you forty-eight. I’ll submit my report at the end of my shift Tuesday.’

  Sam took the police report she’d retrieved. ‘Got it. Thank you.’

  He waited until he was out of the building before letting his knees give way. Lowering himself to a bench, he read the report. The body had been found half-submerged, entangled in a beaver dam in the state park. The victim was a Caucasian male, approximately forty-five years old. Height, approximately six feet. Weight, approximately 185 pounds.

  Sam made himself breathe. His father had been forty-five years old when he disappeared. He’d been six-one and roughly 180 pounds. No. It can’t be. It can’t. But what if it was?

  There was a gunshot entrance wound at the base of the unidentified man’s skull. Whoever this man had been, he’d been executed. I couldn’t have done that. I would’ve remembered.

  But he didn’t remember. He’d lost a day and a half. Just . . . gone.

  Holy God, what have I done?

  Sunday, March 16, 2.15 P.M.

  Parked behind an old gas station at the end of Maynard’s street, Robinette watched the ME’s van pass by, the dead cops’ bodies presumably inside. Hopefully Maynard had shown up already. Hopefully he had Mazzetti with him. So far only two vehicles had left – the ME van and the pickup truck belonging to Maynard’s partner, Paige Holden. The latter he knew because he’d used the minutes he’d been waiting to do a little reconnaissance, keeping it old-school.

  Leaving the Tahoe behind the gas station, he’d slipped through the trees on foot, venturing only close enough to Maynard’s house to see the license plates of every vehicle parked outside through his binoculars. Back at the Tahoe, he’d run all the license plates. As expected, most were registered to city or federal agencies. A few were privately owned, none by Maynard. But if the way the guy had hidden his house under layers of shell corporations was any indication, the PI wouldn’t have registered a car in his own name to begin with.

  Robinette crossed his fingers that Maynard was in one of the vehicles. If he wasn’t, it was only a matter of time before he returned to his home to survey the damage.

  A moment later, a sedan passed by – a large, bald white man at the wheel. Robinette recognized him from a city function they’d both attended – Lieutenant Peter Hyatt, Mazzetti’s boss. Hyatt carried no passengers, so Robinette stayed put.

  Following Hyatt was a black Escalade, windows so heavily tinted that he couldn’t see who was inside. Robinette sat up straighter. Because he’d had done his homework on Stevie Mazzetti, Robinette knew two of her friends drove Escalades – Agent Carter of the FBI and Grayson Smith of the prosecutor’s office. Both had visited her in hospital and at home.

  Agent Carter was the primary investigator on Henderson’s restaurant job. He must also be primary on these homicides because parked in front of Maynard’s house had been a Chevy Suburban, registered to Ford Elkhart, the son of ASA Montgomery. Who, according to Robinette’s sources, was Carter’s new girlfriend.

  It was unlikely that Carter was in the black Escalade. Didn’t mean that Maynard definitely was, but chances were better than good. Following his instinct, Robinette put the Tahoe in gear and pulled out a discreet distance behind them.

  Sunday, March 16, 2.15 P.M.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Stevie said softly.

  Clay looked to the passenger seat where she sat staring out the window. They were driving from his house to Culp’s. He’d been surprised when she’d climbed into the Escalade, but Hyatt had solved the mystery.

  ‘Detective Mazzetti has asked to come with me,’ he’d said, ‘but I think she’ll be safer in Agent Carter’s vehicle. Don’t you agree, Mr Maynard?’

  Clay did, but hadn’t wanted her to ride with him. It would have looked bad to refuse, however, especially as she was already buckling herself in – while scowling at her boss.

  Wasn’t it wonderful to be loved, Clay thought bitterly. She’d been silent through the drive, I’m sorry the first words she’d spoken.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘It’s just stuff.’ He thought of the vase, shattered into a hundred pieces on his bedroom carpet. Irreplaceable stuff.

  ‘Irreplaceable stuff,’ she said, echoing his thoughts. Still staring out the window. ‘But that’s not why I said I was sorry, even though I’m sorry about that, too.’ She drew a breath. ‘I don’t know what I said to you to make you so upset with me. On the boat, I mean. But I did make you upset and you didn’t deserve that. So I’m sorry. Then I was frustrated and . . . embarrassed, and I lashed out at you. So, I’m sorry for that, too. You didn’t deserve that either.’

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ he said quietly, even though within him a tornado screeched. ‘You were honest with me from the beginning. I was the one who tried to change a leopard’s spots.’

  She shifted in her seat and he could feel her stare. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You don’t want a relationship. You were very clear on that point. I don’t know if that means with anyone or just with me. Forever or just for now. But that doesn’t matter. I tried to change your mind. I was wrong to try.’

  ‘You weren’t wrong to try. You just picked the wrong girl.’ Her voice was rough and she abruptly turned back to the window. ‘
You . . . you won’t try again, will you.’

  It was a statement, not a question, uttered with a desolate certainty that broke his heart one more time. ‘No. You have my word.’

  ‘I won’t—’ Her voice shattered. She’d hidden her face from him, but he could hear her tears. ‘I won’t cut you off from Cordelia. She’ll be at Daphne’s as often as I can get her there. Just so you know.’

  It was the crayon drawing, he understood. She’d been so stunned to see it on his refrigerator. He wasn’t certain that even now it had sunk in with her that the first intruder had torn it as a message. She was a target and they’d keep coming until they brought her down.

  Over my dead body. That hadn’t changed.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said evenly. ‘She’s a sweet kid. I appreciate it.’ Yet he didn’t think he’d be seeing Cordelia anymore after this. It would eventually break him into bits.

  They lapsed back into silence, the hum of the tires on the road and Stevie’s quiet weeping overpowered by the relentless pounding in his own head. It had started as a dull throb when he’d walked through his ruined house, but now he could barely think over the pain.

  When he saw a CVS, he pulled the Escalade into a parking place right next to the door. ‘I’ll be five minutes or less. Keep your head down. I mean it.’ He hopped out and locked up.

  But ten minutes had passed before he returned, half of which he’d spent staring at the shelf of condoms. He’d finally chosen a box, tossing it into his shopping basket grimly. He’d wasted enough time on Stevie Mazzetti. As soon as this was over, he planned to meet someone new and he was not using those disgusting chocolate flavored condoms that had somehow wound up in the boat’s nightstand drawer.

  Paige had friends she could set him up with and Daphne had been trying to get him to notice one of Joseph’s VCET agents for weeks. Lou probably had an entire list of possibilities, too, complete with photos. He’d pick one and start over.

  Hair of the dog that bit you, after all. But even as he paid for them, he knew he wouldn’t be using them. He knew he wouldn’t let any of his friends fix him up with other women. He knew he’d be throwing the box away when it hit its ex-date, probably unopened.

  He slipped the plastic sack with the condoms into his gym bag, then tossed the sack with almost everything else he’d bought on the console next to the driver’s seat. Settling behind the wheel, he found the pain reliever and two bottles of water. He took four of the damn pills, then passed the pill bottle along with one of the waters over to Stevie. ‘For your head.’

  She took the medicine gratefully. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘All that crying has to have left you with a headache.’ He handed her the walking cane he’d also bought. ‘Height adjustable. No sparkles. There’s a can of matte finish paint in the bag so we can keep you from being a beacon. The other stuff in there is yours, too.’

  She peeked inside the sack. ‘Tissues and a Hershey bar.’ She huffed a sad chuckle. ‘And a bag of frozen veggies for my face. You thought of everything.’

  He put the Escalade in gear. Yeah. He was so damn thoughtful, he made himself puke. ‘They’re not peas. They only had broccoli with cheese sauce in those single-serving microwave bags, but it’ll have to do. Let’s go to Culp’s.’ The sooner they plugged all the BPD leaks and caught those who wanted Stevie dead, the sooner he’d be on his way. On to the next woman.

  The thought really did make him want to puke.

  By the time he stopped at Culp’s curb, the pounding in his head had met the churning in his stomach and were fast friends. His body ached, but he’d survived worse. Or so he told himself as he helped Stevie from the Escalade. Stevie wanted to be there when Hyatt confronted Culp, which was her right.

  Clay was there because he’d promised to watch her back. He didn’t intend to slough off now.

  Hyatt got out of his car, the slight frown on his face deepening when he saw Stevie’s face. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Sure, just peachy. Where’s Detective Bashears?’

  ‘Parked on the next block so that he can keep an eye on Culp’s back door. I just texted him that we’re going to knock and that he should be ready in case Culp tries to run.’ Tugging his suit coat into place, Hyatt started up the front walk. Stevie followed and Clay brought up the rear, shielding her just in case one or both of their intruders were waiting.

  Clay didn’t see any obvious threats lurking, but he did see several plainclothes cops. ‘How many men do you have here watching, Hyatt?’ he asked when they were on the front porch.

  ‘How many do you count?’ Hyatt asked, his grip on the doorknocker a white-knuckled one.

  ‘What, bad guys or plainclothes cops?’

  ‘Either. Both.’

  ‘Three plainclothes sitting in three unmarked cars. A rifle on the roof of the house across the street. And the lady with the stroller.’

  ‘Tell the lady,’ Stevie added, ‘that she’d be more believable as a mother if she’d glance into the stroller with an occasional “Goo-goo, gaga”.’

  ‘I’ll make sure she gets the feedback.’ Hyatt knocked hard. ‘You sure you don’t want to work for me, Maynard?’

  ‘Very sure.’ As soon as this was over, he planned to run as far away from Baltimore Homicide as his legs would carry him.

  ‘I thought this was all hush-hush, Hyatt,’ Stevie said.

  ‘It is. Those aren’t my people. With the two dead cops on Maynard’s living room floor and the death of the officer at the safe house last night, Assistant State’s Attorney Yates wanted to take no chances. Those are Maryland State cops. The stroller mama is their lieutenant.’

  When no one stirred inside the house, Hyatt knocked again, louder. ‘Culp, it’s Hyatt. Open up.’ But no one came to the door and the seconds became minutes.

  ‘The TV’s on,’ Stevie said. ‘And I saw a car parked in the garage when we walked past.’

  ‘There are blinds on the windows,’ Clay said. ‘How did you see in the garage?’

  ‘I’m short. From my angle I could see up through the slats. It’s a maroon minivan.’

  ‘Culp drives one,’ Hyatt said. ‘An old Dodge Caravan.’

  ‘Could be a decoy,’ Clay murmured. ‘Do you have a warrant to enter the house?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Hyatt said. ‘We’re waiting on the judge to sign it. That’s the other reason for the State coverage. If he’s guilty, we didn’t want him getting wind of it and bolting.’

  Clay crouched behind the azaleas so that he could squint under the window shade, then hissed a curse. ‘If that’s Culp, he ain’t boltin’ anywhere. Someone’s sitting in the recliner in front of the TV. I can see the toe of a man’s boot and a whole lot of blood on the carpet.’

  ‘Shit.’ Hyatt made three quick calls, the first to request EMS and the second to the woman with the stroller. She immediately set toward them at a brisk jog, her team falling in behind her. The third was to Bashears, telling him to join them.

  ‘Didn’t JD approach the house to look inside?’ Stevie asked.

  ‘No.’ Hyatt clenched his jaw. ‘He wanted to, but Yates didn’t want to tip our hand prematurely and he wanted me to be the one to confront Culp. I was on my way over here when I got the call about Hollinsworth and Locklear. When Yates heard about them, he insisted on the State coverage before we went in. This is a neighborhood. We need to avoid collateral damage.’

  ‘Lieutenant Hyatt?’ the stroller mama asked.

  ‘Culp’s either hurt or dead.’ Hyatt nodded at the door. ‘Open it.’

  Two State cops kicked the door in and the stroller mama led the way, her weapon at her side. Her team fanned out and a few seconds later she gave the all clear to Hyatt. ‘He’s dead.’ She pulled on a glove and touched Culp’s arm. ‘Close to full rigor. He’s likely been dead for ten to twelve hours. The ME can
tell us for sure.’

  Hyatt made another call, canceling the ambulance and requesting the ME. ‘Lieutenant Levine, this is Detective Mazzetti and her . . .’

  ‘Bodyguard,’ Clay supplied tersely. Beside him, Stevie flinched.

  Levine gave him a speculative once-over before turning back to Stevie. ‘After the recent attempts on your life by BPD officers, I can’t say I blame you for outsourcing, Detective.’

  Clay shifted so that he could look around Levine. Scott Culp slumped in his recliner, listing to the right, a bullet hole at the base of his skull. ‘Ten to twelve hours ago was shortly after Rossi killed Officer Cleary in the safe house,’ Clay said. ‘This was an execution.’

  ‘Somebody’s tying up loose ends,’ Stevie agreed. ‘But it wasn’t Rossi. He was in the hospital. Could have been Thing One or Thing Two from Clay’s house. Or the drive-by shooter. Or the restaurant sniper.’ She closed her eyes wearily. ‘Or anybody else who wanted me dead.’

  ‘Thing One and Thing Two?’ Levine asked.

  ‘I’ll explain,’ Hyatt said. ‘First, let me take this call.’ He answered his cell, then went still. ‘Are you sure, JD?’ His shoulders sagged. ‘Then bring him in. I’ll meet you in Interview.’

  Slowly Hyatt hung up and pocketed his phone. He looked like he’d aged twenty years in the last twenty seconds. ‘Lieutenant Levine, would you do me the favor of sending two of your team to the home of Carla Culp in Potomac and escorting her to my precinct? We need to know what she knows about her ex-husband’s past activities.’

  ‘Have your assistant send us the address and we’ll get on it,’ Levine said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I am all right,’ he said. ‘I have Mrs Culp’s address. I’ll text it to you. Excuse me.’ He stepped away from Culp’s body and made another call. ‘Carter, it’s Hyatt. I need Brodie over here at Culp’s. Yesterday. And those two agents you had canvassing Maynard’s neighbors? . . . Yeah, Novak and Coppola. Have them contact JD Fitzpatrick. He needs their assistance. Fitzpatrick has the address. Thanks, Carter.’

  Stevie walked to Hyatt, put her hand on his arm. ‘What’s happened?’