by V. K. Sykes
Kozak wore a plain navy tee shirt and black jeans. He had grown a goatee and let his hair grow out since his hospital ID photo was taken. In the flesh, he bore some resemblance to the man in Orosco’s composite, but Amy wouldn’t have made a connection.
Vincent did the introductions, identifying Clint Jackson and Bill Sealy as the Salt Lake FBI agents. Kozak shifted in his chair, eyes darting around the room as the agents and detectives shook hands.
Poushinsky turned on the recording equipment.
“He’s been read his rights, and he’s waived the right to counsel at this time,” Vincent said.
“Yeah, but like I said, I’m not talking unless I get the deal I want,” Kozak said in a flat voice.
Poushinsky looked startled. “What’s he talking about?”
Vincent gave Poushinsky a long-suffering look. “He wouldn’t say a word until the plane landed. But then he started talking, admitting to stealing the drugs from the hospital and selling them. He said he’ll tell us who he sold them to, but first he wants immunity on the drug charges and anything else that may be related to the drugs.”
Amy couldn’t help a little flinch. He’s not the killer, but he sold the drugs to him. Kozak’s resemblance, such as it was, to the killer was a coincidence, unless they were somehow related.
“Like accessory to murder,” she said bitterly.
“Right,” Vincent replied. “And he wants federal protection, including WITSEC if necessary.”
Poushinsky threw up his hands. “Great. That means getting the DOJ onside, not to mention three or four Circuit State Attorneys.”
Vincent nodded. “Sealy’s already called Washington. We should have the go-ahead soon. You guys will have to deal with your DA’s.”
“Kozak? Let’s cut to the chase, okay?” Amy spoke sharply to catch the man’s attention. She couldn’t wait one second longer to get at him. “You sold the Pavulon you stole from Kenton Memorial Hospital to the individual you believe is responsible for the murders in question. Is that correct?”
Kozak gave barely a hint of a nod.
“What’s his name?”
Kozak snorted. “You’re not getting anything else out of me until I see the deal. Signed, sealed and delivered.”
Amy believed him. Kozak didn’t kill those women, and he was willing to give up the bastard to get off the hook for his own crimes. What choice did she have, when they were working against a serial killer’s ticking clock?
“All right,” she said. “But it’ll take a little time. I’ll deal with Palm Beach County and I’ll make a call to the Polk Sheriff’s Office. Lonnie, can you take care of Martin County?”
“I’ll make the call,” Foreman said, tight-lipped.
“Okay, then,” Poushinsky said, his features tight with anger. “Can we take this trash next door now and stow it in a holding cell?”
56
* * *
Thursday, August 5
2:30 p.m.
Amy and Poushinsky had briefed Cramer and, within minutes, Cramer had briefed Sheriff Garrett. Garrett had then called the State Attorney for the Fifteenth Circuit. By circumventing the regular channels, Amy had acquired signed approval for Kozak’s immunity deal for the Palm Beach County crimes shortly after one o’clock. The federal Attorney-General’s Office had also agreed to provide protection and place Kozak in the WITSEC program. But Amy still awaited approval from the State Attorneys for the Tenth and Nineteenth Circuits for immunity regarding the crimes committed in Polk and Martin counties.
Beckett, looking rested, had strolled in ten minutes ago, no doubt after a leisurely breakfast and a workout. Her fault. She’d told him there was no need for him to rush in since they’d be tied up with Kozak for hours. As he headed straight for Cramer’s office, he winked at her. Much to her irritation, every part of her body flushed with warmth. It had taken a whole lot of discipline to shove him to the back of her mind today and focus on work.
Most of her squad had spent the day following up on alleged sightings of the suspect. A half-dozen calls had come in, some claiming they’d seen the man at Roger Dean Stadium. One woman thought she remembered him from Chester’s. Ryan and Washington had been dispatched to take all their statements. Amy was surprised there hadn’t been more calls, and wondered if the media outside the West Palm-Jupiter area had run the composites. She fired off an email to Media Relations asking them to check.
“I figured you’d still be grilling the guy.” Beckett’s deep southern drawl purred from behind her, sending tingles across the back of her neck. She swiveled her chair to face him and his dark gaze met hers with a sexy, knowing heat. It was all she could do not to yank him down to her level for a kiss.
Instead, she settled for a rueful smile. “We’re waiting for the State Attorneys to finalize an immunity deal for Kozak.”
Beckett came to alert. “Then he’ll talk?”
“He’d better. Otherwise, he’s going down for at least accessory to murder on multiple counts.”
He gave her a quick study. “You look tired.” His smile made it clear he felt not the least bit guilty about that.
“You sweet talker, you. So do you, by the way,” she lied. Actually, he looked energized and fabulous.
“Some night,” Luke said.
Amy sighed. “Yeah, and I’ve got so much adrenaline and caffeine in my system I probably won’t sleep for a week.”
He leaned in a bit closer. “We didn’t get much time to enjoy the afterglow, did we?”
“When we nail this bastard there’ll be time for afterglow.”
Luke grinned and tossed his coffee cup into her wastebasket. “I’ll hold you to that. But right now I’m heading out again.”
“Where to?” Amy asked, unable to stifle her curiosity. She’d missed him these last few hours. It might be the dumbest feeling she’d ever had, but there it was.
“I’m going to check in on Alicia, and then I’ve got another meeting with the social worker.”
“Coming back here when you’re finished?” She almost groaned as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She sounded like a damn teenager. “I mean, you’ve been a big part of the investigation, and you’ll want to be around if this is the end game.”
“I wouldn’t miss it, Detective,” Luke said. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I can’t ravish you in here, but consider yourself thoroughly kissed.”
Amy punched him in the shoulder. He just laughed and strolled from the room.
* * *
Shortly after three, Vincent assembled the detectives in the interview room. This time, Sergeant Knight sat in. A minute later, two deputies brought in Kozak and sat him down. At Knight’s nod, they removed his handcuffs.
Amy settled back in her chair as the FBI agent kicked things off.
“We’ve got all the necessary authorizations for your deal,” Vincent said, staring hard at Kozak. “Full immunity from any crimes you committed that are related to your theft of drugs from Kenton Memorial Hospital. As well, you will receive protective services from both the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office and federal marshals. Should you wish, the FBI will place you in the federal witness protection program. This deal is, of course, entirely subject to your providing full and accurate information regarding the person to whom you sold the drugs in question. Should any of your information prove false, or if anything material is knowingly withheld, the agreement is null and void.”
Vincent paused and met the eyes of each detective. No one said a word.
“Again, you have been read your rights,” he continued, “and you have declined legal representation. Do you still wish to proceed without legal representation?”
“Let’s get on with it,” Kozak grunted.
“You need to say yes for the record,” Vincent prompted.
“Yes.”
Knight spoke up. “I need to inform you that this interview is being recorded.”
“Obviously. Let me see the papers.”
Vincent passed
copies to him. Kozak scanned them in less than a minute.
“Fine,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
Amy suppressed the urge to punch the jerk. His self-satisfied smile made her want to puke.
Knight nodded to her. As lead local investigator, she’d conduct the interrogation. In a few sentences, she summarized Kozak’s background of employment at the hospital, and his theft of the Pavulon and the other drugs, asking him to confirm the accuracy of her statements for the record.
“You pretty much nailed it.”
Asshole. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He smirked. “You do that.”
“For the record, did you sell any or all of the drugs you stole to another individual?”
“Yes.”
“All to the same person?”
“No. I sold the Oxy and the Vicodin to a dealer in St. Lucie. Stuff fetched a good price, too.”
“What about the Percodan?” she said sharply.
“That, too. Same guy.”
“We’ll want the dealer’s name,” Foreman said.
“Why? He’s got nothing to do with the murders.”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” Foreman growled. “Remember what Special Agent Vincent said about full and complete information?”
Kozak gave a dismissive wave. “Whatever. The guy’s basically chickenshit, anyway. Rodriguez. Rafael Rodriguez.”
“And what about the Pavulon?” Amy said, impatiently. She didn’t give a damn about some small time dealer.
Kozak suddenly sucked in a deep breath and his demeanor changed from snide to serious. Maybe even a little nervous. “I needed this deal because Joey would kill me if he finds out I ratted him out. I could run halfway around the world and he’d find me. The son of a bitch would never rest until he’d got his revenge.”
Tension stretched Amy’s nerves tight. “Joey who?”
“Joey Garneau.”
You’re a walking dead man, Joey Garneau.
“That’s the man you sold the Pavulon you stole from the hospital?” Amy added.
Kozak nodded.
“Please answer for the record.”
“Yes. Joey wanted as much as I could get. He’d have made me steal more, but I got caught and fired.”
“He made you steal?” Amy didn’t hide her surprise.
Kozak screwed up his lips. “Hell, yeah. One day, out of the blue, Joey showed up at my apartment and just told me point blank I had to get him some Pavulon from the hospital.”
“So, why did you steal the narcotics? Did he order you to take them, too?”
“Nah, I just figured I might as well make some money if was going to risk my ass over the fucking Pavulon, anyway.”
Amy almost laughed. How entrepreneurial of him. “You said Garneau made you do it. Did he specifically threaten you?”
“Fucking right he did. Said he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he wanted, and he’d make it as slow and painful as he could.”
“You could have gone to the police instead of committing a crime—a crime that led to the deaths of at least four women,” Amy said grimly.
Kozak’s shoulders slumped. “I’d have been a dead man. You don’t know Garneau. I was in the joint with him for three years. I saw exactly what he could do, him and that lunatic buddy of his, Griff Brandt. Nobody fucked with them, not even the gangs. Nobody. If somebody even looked at one of them sideways—”
“I get it,” Amy said, cutting him off. “Did you ever ask him why he wanted that particular drug?”
He grimaced. “I didn’t have to. It was obvious what he wanted it for. But I figured he just wanted to kill somebody who’d pissed him off. Kill him in a really painful way, which would be par for the course for that prick. I never expected he’d end up murdering innocent women.”
“He never spoke of his intended victims?”
“Never.”
“Do you have any idea of what his motive might be for these killings?”
He shook his head. “No clue. But I think he just likes to kill. I know he offed an inmate, but they couldn’t pin it on him. There was a story going around that he killed his own grandmother.”
Amy and Poushinsky exchanged sharp glances, as did some of the other detectives. “You heard that in prison?”
“Yeah. The way I heard it, he got pissed off at the old lady and burned her house down. But the cops couldn’t prove he intended to kill her.”
Tabarnak . What the hell else was in Garneau’s background?
“Where did you meet Garneau for the exchange?”
“He always came to my apartment.”
“Did he say anything about where he lived, or worked? Or gave you any other personal information?”
“No, but he wouldn’t, would he?” he said with a snort. “He’s not a stupid man, Detective.”
Amy felt like snapping her pencil in half. “Did you ever see him other than at your apartment?”
Kozak inhaled deeply again. “I saw him at a baseball game.”
Chairs shifted and somebody murmured, maybe Knight.
“At St. Lucie Stadium?”
“Yeah. I went to a game there at the beginning of the season. The Mets and the Cardinals. I got a really good seat, maybe ten rows behind the visitors’ dugout. I had a good view into the Mets’ dugout from where I was sitting, and I was sure I saw Joey Garneau in uniform there.”
Amy frowned. “He’s a Mets player?”
“Hell, no. It wasn’t a regular team uniform—more like baseball pants and a team tee shirt. So, I thought maybe he was a trainer. I wasn’t even positive it was him, but it gave me the creeps. Scared me a little, even. So, I went back again the next day, and got there early so I could watch batting practice. Then I knew it was Garneau. He was on the field, handling the players’ equipment. He obviously worked for the team.”
57
* * *
Thursday, August 5
3:30 p.m.
Not a player. A team employee. An equipment guy. No wonder they’d been coming up empty on the player angle. Amy mentally cursed, and she imagined the other detectives around the table were doing the same. But there would be plenty of time for self-recriminations. Right now they had to find Joey Garneau.
“Did Garneau see you at the ballpark, too?” she asked Kozak. “Is that why he contacted you?”
Kozak let out an unhappy sigh. “No. When I got out of prison, I kept in touch with a guy who was still in there. A nice kid named Kenny Mallory. I’d visit Kenny a couple of times a month, sometimes more. I’d tell him how I was doing in school, shit like that. He wanted to hear about everything I was doing. Said he was going to do just like me after he got out. After I got my pharmacy diploma and moved down here, I still kept in touch with Kenny.”
“And Kenny obviously told Garneau,” Amy said.
“Kenny was happy for me. He probably told all kinds of people. But Garneau remembered that he’d said I was a pharmacy tech, and that I was living in Stuart. So, he found me, and the rest is history,” he finished bitterly.
A history of vicious murder .
“So, you ran off to Montana to avoid theft charges after the hospital fired you?”
Kozak nodded. “I knew the cops would be after me once the hospital figured it out. But I didn’t think they’d track me to Montana. Not until I started reading about the murders on the Internet.”
Amy saw Poushinsky clench his fists, and she felt like punching Kozak herself. “So, you just sat there like a mouse in Billings, knowing Garneau was back here slaughtering young women with your drugs.”
Any slight twinge of sympathy Amy might have felt for him had vanished. Kozak was a coward, and she wished like hell she could toss him in a cell and leave him there until he rotted.
Kozak hung his head.
“I’m done with this slime for now,” she said, sickened at the sight of Kozak and anxious to get onto Garneau’s trail. “Anyone else?”
When Foreman began to probe for further detail
s about the drug thefts and the dealer who had bought the narcotics, Amy, Poushinsky, and Knight quickly excused themselves.
The three of them rushed up the stairs onto the Floor. Now they knew the killer’s name, and they knew where he worked. And in a matter of minutes, they’d know where he lived, too.
The end game was on.
* * *
Alicia was definitely improving. As soon as Luke entered her room, she scooted up higher in the bed and reached behind to rearrange her pillows. Carefully, she propped Pudge up next to her.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Luke said, holding one hand behind his back. One of the nurses had just told him that Alicia’s new medication regime had been a success, and he could definitely see the difference since the last time he saw the girl.
Alicia gave him a sunburst smile. “Hi, Luke!” But then she knitted her brows as she noticed his half-hearted attempt at concealment. “You’re hiding something behind your back!”
“I can’t sneak anything by you, can I?”
“Well, you really didn’t try very hard,” she said. “What is it? Show me!”
“I figure you can never have too many stuffed animals, can you? Or am I wrong?” Luke plunked a fuzzy green hippopotamus onto her lap. The hippo’s bulging eyes gave him a slightly bemused look, which was why the toy had appealed to Luke in the store.
Alicia clutched the hippo around its fat tummy. “He’s really soft.” She tilted her head as she put a finger to her chin. “What do you think I should call him?”
“He’s a hippo, so maybe something starting with H,” Luke ventured. “Like Harry? Or maybe Horatio? I like Harry the Hippo, myself.”
“Me, too,” she said, nuzzling the hippo’s nose. “Thanks for Harry, Luke.”
“My pleasure, honey. You’re feeling better today, aren’t you?”
“Uh, huh. I’ve decided that having my operation next week is a very good thing. I was scared at first, but Doctor Anna and I talked about it for a long time this morning. She told me not to worry. I’m going to be okay, because I’m tough.”