Random Revenge (Detective Robert Winter Book 1)

by William Michaels

  The shooting stopped, the bike stalled out, buried under an avalanche of wheels. An arm grew out of the pile like a zombie, the hand twisted grotesquely. An ancient Tec 9 lay in the well of a rim a few feet away.

  Winter gingerly picked his way toward the body, which hadn’t moved. With his gun in one hand, he picked up the Tec 9, which wouldn’t be doing any more firing, its shroud crushed into the barrel so hard it was bent.

  Winter had to move three wheels to find the biker’s head, which was twisted even more awkwardly than his hand. Winter felt for a pulse, couldn’t be sure, he was never good at that. Maybe a weak one. The guy’s eyes were closed.

  Winter stepped back, called it in, then began heaving the rims off the biker.

  CHAPTER 38

  The biker’s injuries turned out to look much worse than they were, which was fortunate for the biker, whose name turned out to be Gus Woodson. Fortunate for Winter too; there would be enough paperwork as it was.

  They both ended up in the Midregions Hospital ER at the same time, Winter getting his leg treated by a single nurse, who had cleaned and wrapped where his calf had been grazed. Woodson, with a concussion, a broken pelvis, arm, and wrist, had enough doctors to outfit a small clinic.

  James O’Dowd, who everyone called Jimmy because he looked to be about eighteen and had for the last twenty years, was dodging the nurse who was checking Winter’s bandage. O’Dowd, who had a pasty complexion that blended into the cream wall paint, couldn’t stand still.

  “Man, I owe you,” said O’Dowd. “I mean, I just got put on this chop shop case, and I’ve read a thousand pages of Ryder’s notes—where does he get the time? Anyway, we’ve basically got nothing, I’m pissed when Logan puts me on it. We’ve known the Geary brothers have been moving the parts, but since we’ve been on to them they’re not doing it at their shop, but cars are still getting chopped up. I mean, we’ve got nothing. We can’t find where they are breaking down the cars. And then, boom, just like that, you find it.” O’Dowd shook his head at his own luck. “I’m going to look like a fucking genius, just because I found that hidden below ground garage.” He stopped suddenly, the nurse running into him again. “Ryder is going to be pissed.”

  Winter, who knew all this, and would have far preferred to be chatting with the pretty nurse, who reminded him of one of his high school girlfriends, or at least what he imagined she would have looked like twenty years later, didn’t begrudge O’Dowd his enthusiasm. And yes, Ryder was going to be pissed.

  “I wasn’t there for the chop shop,” said Winter. The nurse was taking an uncommonly long time to check his bandage, Winter hoping it was because she was more interested in him than some cop story. “Moron, shooting at a cop over auto theft.”

  “Sometimes you just get lucky,” said O’Dowd. “I mean, I got lucky, you got shot.”

  “Thank god he couldn’t shoot worth a damn. Not that you can hit anything with a Tec 9. Where’d he get it, at a flea market? Although a few more minutes and I would have been ricocheted to death.” Winter smiled at the nurse, but she’d turned to O’Dowd.

  “How did you find this secret garage?” she asked, clearly more interested in his story than in Winter.

  O’Dowd warmed back to his tale faster than a relief pitcher. “There was this air compressor, see? And they had these extra hoses going down through a pipe. I thought, who runs a compressor line into the floor? So I looked around and found a way down, it was actually under the compressor, which was on wheels. They had a ramp leading outside that came out inside a trailer.”

  “Pretty impressive,” said the nurse.

  “That’s not the half of it. There was a guy down there working on a car. Know what he says to me? ‘Officer, we have receipts for everything in the showroom.’ While he’s pulling the engine from a Lexus.”

  “He’s the guy who told you about Woodson?” asked Winter.

  “Yeah. He gave it up pretty quick once he found out that Woodson had shot at you. He told me that Woodson worked on some of the rally bikes on the side.”

  Winter translated that as off the books. He doubted the entire IRS could track down all the off the books work that was being done just within Marburg.

  Winter stood up, testing the leg, it wasn’t bad, he’d had worse. Although it would itch like hell for a week. “I need to find out if Woodson ever took those rally bikes out himself. The bike he was running on didn’t have a flag.”

  Winter gave the nurse one last look, but she had turned her adoring brown eyes on O’Dowd.

  Winter met up with Ryder in the hospital cafeteria, Winter with a coffee, Ryder a diet Pepsi.

  “He give you anything?” asked Winter. Woodson fit the description of the man the groundskeepers had seen at the Lakeview, but so did a hundred other bikers.

  “Only if you count mumbling, pissing and moaning about the pain, and constantly asking if his lawyer had arrived.”

  “Cheer up, you’ll still get credit for clearing up the chop shop.”

  “What’s it going to look like? I’m working on it for months, it gets thrown to O’Dowd, and he busts it open in a week.”

  “Just luck, that’s all.”

  “How did you end up there, anyway?”

  Winter filled Ryder in on his trip to the Lakeview. “So now we know for sure Upton was having men over at Gigi’s. What if Melanie got assaulted by this Woodson guy? That would explain why he was desperate enough to shoot at me. He might have been thinking I was coming for him over a rape.”

  “I’ll buy it that Melanie stayed at the Lakeview, but it’s her sister’s apartment, nothing odd about it. It’s also a much better place to entertain her boyfriends.”

  Winter asked, “Did you find out if Goodson had a record?”

  “Theft, robbery, a few drug possessions, but no assault or rape. Not even charges.”

  “So maybe he’s seeing Upton, she invites him to the Lakeview, he spots some easy pickings, comes back one night . . .”

  “And assaults a woman who is already giving it to him?”

  “Maybe she broke up with him.”

  “She seems to have a lot of men,” said Ryder. “Still could have been Ayers. Or anyone else chasing her around.”

  Who else did they know had been with Upton? Another piece of the puzzle fell into place in Winter’s head. “Lenny Gruse was in a bar fight that night. He could have easily made it to the Lakeview to assault her. Or if he was in on some blackmail scheme, Upton might even have let him in.”

  “I still don’t buy that.”

  “I’m not sure I do, either,” admitted Winter. “But if Upton was seeing men at the Lakeview, that’s where she could have met up with Ayers too. You said it yourself, she’d be more likely to hook up there. So she might have been assaulted at her sister’s, instead of at her own place.”

  Ryder scratched his head. “Why wouldn’t she just say that?”

  Ryder’s scratching was infectious, Winter reaching for his calf, getting no relief with the bandage in the way. “That’s a good question. Don’t you find it odd that when she talks to us she claims she can’t remember much about that night, but she has no problem implying on television that it might have been Ayers? I mean, does she think it’s Ayers or not?”

  “Maybe it was him, and like she said, she doesn’t want to get him in trouble.”

  “Seems she’s dragging him through the mud anyway. Either way, someone isn’t telling the truth here. Ayers told us he wasn’t with Melanie any more. Then why was he at the Lakeview? That witness seemed pretty credible.”

  Ryder sucked on the remnants of his ice cubes. “If it’s Ayers, or Woodson, that would ruin your theory of this having anything to do with Gruse.”

  “It’s not a theory, just a possibility. Gruse could have assaulted Upton, and she killed him.” Winter was still mad at himself for forgetting to ask the groundskeepers if they’d seen Gruse at the Lakeview. He’d have to go back.

  “Just because you can make up a story doesn’t m
ean that’s the way it went down.”

  “You’re right,” said Winter, getting up. “So let’s figure out what happened to Upton once and for all.”

  “You want to go back at Melanie?”

  “Later. She’s an actress, she could be lying through her teeth and doing a better job than everyone else who lies to us. I think we’re more likely to get something out of her sister if we can get her alone.”

  “I have a few ideas about the drug angle. I talked to a guy I met a few years ago, he was on a New England drug task force. He said that the whole celebrity crowd in California is into a different class of drugs than we see here. More opioids, not just oxy, but fentenyl. Gruse might have thought he could move it here, get it from his contacts in Los Angeles.”

  Winter didn’t think that had much merit, but it was as good a theory as any, and it could certainly get Gruse killed. Plus, he wanted to have a crack at Gigi Doyle alone. “Okay, you want to run that down? I’ll go see the sister. Then we can tackle Ayers together.”

  Ryder crunched his last ice cube. “Works for me.”

  Winter knew Gigi Doyle was nervous about having cops show up at her job, so that’s why he was standing outside her office building; nothing like a nervous witness to loosen the lips.

  The office building, a ten story gleaming rehab in Marburg’s city center, even had a Starbucks in the lobby, part of a three outlet food court. Winter didn’t know enough about business to figure out whether that meant he should buy Starbucks stock or sell it. That is, if he owned any stocks. Or maybe he did, Audrey managed his savings. He didn’t really follow closely, nodding when she tried to explain what she was doing with the thousand dollars he sent her every month. His house was paid for, he didn’t have any expensive hobbies, and as he’d been told many times, his wardrobe hadn’t changed in years, allowing him to put a small chunk of his salary away.

  Gigi Doyle worked for a company called Axionics, which meant nothing to Winter. The reception area on the eighth floor was high tech steel and glass. A receptionist as cold as the furnishings frowned at Winter’s cargo pants.

  “I’m here to see Gigi Doyle,” he said.

  The receptionist peered out of impossibly small glasses. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but if you tell her that Robert Winter is here, I’m sure she’ll see me.” Winter gave the receptionist his warmest smile, but she wasn’t buying it.

  “I’ll see if she’s in.”

  Winter had purposely not identified himself as the police. That was a card he wanted to hold over Doyle’s head.

  The receptionist murmured into her headset, and Winter drifted over toward the double glass doors which led into the offices. Directly across the corridor was a conference room, empty. He could see twenty feet or so down the hall. An exit sign over a doorway suggested an internal staircase. Doyle could avoid him by taking the stairs if her office wasn’t on this floor.

  “Miss Doyle will be out in a moment.” The receptionist didn’t sound happy, which might have been her normal state of mind.

  It was more than a moment, Winter again wondering if Doyle had skipped. When she finally appeared she looked even more nervous than when Winter had seen her at her apartment. She stood on the other side of the glass door, one hand over her chest, the other on the door handle, as if deciding whether to come out.

  She finally opened the door a few inches. “I’m very busy,” she whispered, her eyes jumping between Winter and the receptionist. “What do you want?”

  Winter kept his voice low. “We can have this conversation here, or in private. Your choice.”

  For a second Winter thought she was going to pull the door shut and run inside. He stepped even closer, nudging her with his presence. “I haven’t told anyone I’m with the police. Yet.”

  That did the trick. Doyle stepped out into the reception area, shrinking past Winter. “Can we go downstairs?”

  “Sure.”

  They rode the elevator in silence, Doyle clutching at her jacket. In the lobby Winter sat her down in a corner table in the food court.

  “Why did you have to come to my office?”

  “Because you haven’t been honest with me, and I need answers fast.”

  “But people will be talking. The receptionist is a gossip.”

  “Tell her I’m your boyfriend. After all, you’ve been having all sorts of men at your apartment, everyone knows that.”

  “I have not!”

  Winter leaned over her. “See? You’re lying again. I’ve got witnesses who say you have.”

  Doyle’s head was shaking so hard it looked like a shiver. “I never have men at my place, who said that?”

  “Look, Gigi—do you mind if I call you Gigi?—it would normally not be any of my business who you sleep with. But when one of your boyfriends turns out to be a felon . . .”

  Now Doyle looked like she was going to cry. “It’s not true, I don’t know any—felons. I haven’t had anyone at my place, I swear.”

  Winter felt a moment of remorse, fought it off. If Doyle was going to crack, now would be the time. “And not only a felon who’s been in prison—he shot me.”

  “What?”

  “Yep.” Winter put his foot up on the chair and pulled up his pant leg. “Fortunately for me he just got me in the leg. We have him in custody. If you had anything do to with this . . .”

  Doyle’s shock turned into an explosion of tears. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Winter dropped his leg off the chair, using the opportunity to scratch at his bandage. He softened his tone. “I’m trying to help you, give you a chance to explain yourself in private. Detective Ryder wanted to drag you out of your office in handcuffs, bring you down to the station.”

  Doyle grabbed at the napkin holder, the napkins jammed in so tight she tore a handful before pulling one out, pressing it into her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Any of it.”

  “Not even about Jason Ayers being at your apartment? We have a witness for that too.”

  “I haven’t seen Jason in years! He’s Melanie’s friend.”

  If Doyle was an actress she was even better than her sister. “Gigi, I’m giving you one last chance, then we’ll do it Detective Ryder’s way. I know of at least two men who were at your apartment. The guy who shot me—he’s a biker, his name is Gus Woodson. And Jason Ayers.” Winter hovered over her. If he got any closer someone in the food court was going to call the cops.

  “Melanie,” she whispered. “I think Mel sees men there when I’m traveling.”

  Which is exactly what Winter suspected, but he needed to hear her say it. He sat down, giving her some space. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

  Doyle pulled another napkin, not drying her tears, just tearing it into little pieces, avoiding Winter’s eyes. “Why are you asking me instead of Melanie?”

  “I will, but she hasn’t exactly been truthful, either. See, what I think is that Melanie didn’t get assaulted at her apartment at all.”

  Doyle’s head snapped up, her lip quivering. “You don’t?”

  That was interesting, thought Winter. Why didn’t she say ‘Of course she did’? He changed his line of questioning. “No. I think she got assaulted at your place, by this guy Woodson, and she blamed it all on Jason Ayers to get some publicity.”

  Doyle’s hesitated a few heartbeats too long before she said, “No, no, that’s not true.”

  “Which part?”

  Doyle’s eyes turned down, her voice barely audible. “I swear to you, Melanie did not get assaulted at my place. I was there that night and she wasn’t.”

  Winter waited her out, but she didn’t elaborate. He couldn’t think of a reason why she would lie, but he also couldn’t figure out why Upton would be lying either. Something was off about all this. “And Jason? Did Melanie make that assault story up about him?”

  “She never said he did or didn’t. I already told you they had a thing. She said she was confused. Why can’t you le
ave it at that?”

  Because Lenny Gruse is dead, thought Winter. “How about other men? Did your sister have anyone else over?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. She has a key, I know she stayed there sometimes when I was away, she didn’t have air conditioning. Who Melanie dates is none of my business.”

  “Can you prove you were there the night Melanie says she was assaulted?”

  “I’m not sure. Why should I have to?”

  If she could, thought Winter, then maybe Melanie got assaulted at her own apartment, just like she said she did. By Jason Ayers. Or not assaulted at all. If either of those were true, then why was Gigi Doyle so nervous? He’d have to go back at Ayers.

  “It might come to that,” said Winter, trying to sound ominous. It didn’t take much, Doyle had torn up the last napkin, a rat’s nest of paper on the table. “If there’s something else you want to tell me, now’s the time. Our next conversation will probably take place in a police station.”

  Doyle stared at her hands for a long time. When she looked up her lip was set in a hard line. “You’re a very mean man, did you know that?”

  CHAPTER 39

  Now that her apartment was blessedly cool, Melanie noticed its other shortcomings even more. Time to get out. Out of her apartment, out of Marburg. Her agent, Stanlish, kept dangling possibilities, yet nothing worthwhile had materialized, just amateur work. She had turned down two commercials and even an audition for a locally produced documentary, that just wasn’t the image she was trying to create.

  Maybe Stanlish was expecting her to put out, although he hadn’t given her that vibe. Still, he was a guy, and Melanie was sure it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d charged that fee. She had hoped she was past that.

  Her money was running out; soon she wouldn’t be able to buy the better wine she’d been drinking, the last bottle she had sitting empty on the floor. If only it was as easy to get men to send her entire bottles as it was getting them to send her drinks at a bar. She’d been avoiding the bars, maybe it was time to go back. She could drive to Boston.