“Well, if she was returning home, then whoever was expecting her should be missing her by now. I’ll check and see if a Missing Persons report has been filed.”
Curtis nodded and headed into the living area as Walker fished out his phone, trying to remember when he stopped thinking of his parents’ place as home.
Frank didn’t want to screw anything up, not on this case, not with him so intimately involved, not with Sarah so near death. The ‘star crossed lovers’ had to be him and her. It gave him butterflies to think of it. Lovers. He had never had a girlfriend. And Sarah was as good as any to start, and maybe even end, with. The thought of her made him all the more determined to do his job. And he finally had a break. He had discovered the cameras were sold by the same supplier, and that supplier was cooperating without waiting for a warrant once they heard just a few details of what was going on. Some people actually have a conscience, and don’t worry about lawsuits. He hoped to have the information before the night was through, which might help.
Unless that Sandy guy bought them.
He shivered at the thought. Sandy had always seemed like a nice guy, and had prepared his coffee probably a dozen times over the short period he had worked there. Had he started working there to target him? Or had he picked him after working there? He stopped, struck by a troubling thought.
What coffee shop am I going to go to now?
Could he go back to that place? He loved that place, it had been part of his life for years, and it was something he didn’t want to lose. I’m going back. There was no way he was going to let some criminal, especially some dead criminal, change his life. He slammed his fists against the seat, sealing his decision. In fact, he’d go right now if it weren’t for the deadline he was working.
The computer beeped, demanding his attention. He had run a program to hack the cameras, and at last he had his first result. The password for the first camera, the one found in the apartment downstairs. He read it and felt the color drain from his face.
FRANK
He looked over at the other computer still working away at the camera from his apartment. He slid his chair over and opened the software he had downloaded from the manufacturer’s website to use the camera, and typed in his hunch.
BRATA
The software popped up with all the settings. He was in. He pulled the IP addresses assigned to both cameras, and began his trace. Within minutes he had found the website the cameras had streamed to. It was password protected as well. And he didn’t have a warrant.
Sarah!
He typed every combination of his name he could think of for the user ID and password, with no success. Then on a hunch, he tried something different.
User Name: SARAH
Password: PAXMAN
He had access. But it was illegal access. He was about to click on a link to view the uploaded video, but hesitated. What if you screw up the case? Yanking his phone off his belt, he phoned Shakespeare. It only took one ring for his gruff voice to answer.
“Hello, Detective, it’s Frank.”
“What’ve you got for me?”
“I’ve got the website for the cameras, but it’s not public, it’s password protected.”
“Did you get in?”
“Yes, but without a warrant, I can’t legally look at anything.”
“I don’t give a damn—” Shakespeare stopped speaking. Frank waited a few seconds, unsure of what was happening.”
“Are you still there?”
“I have an idea. I’ll call you back in a minute.”
The line went dead and Frank waited, wondering what possible idea Shakespeare could be thinking of, when the phone rang again.
“Gather up anything you’re going to need, and meet me at WACX right away.”
Shakespeare hung up the phone before Frank could say a word, leaving him to wonder what was going on.
Then he smiled.
Shakespeare pulled into the underground garage at WACX and parked as close to the elevators as he could. He climbed out and saw a squad car nearby flash its lights. He walked over as Frank and the officer climbed out.
“Hi, detective, I don’t have a car, so Officer Richards here offered to drive me. Plus, I figured with the nature of the equipment I’ve got, it might be best to have an armed escort.”
Shakespeare nodded at Richards. “Thanks for the help.”
“We aim to please.” Richards leaned in and popped the trunk. Shakespeare circled the car and whistled at the sheer volume of equipment.
“Did you leave anything at the office?”
Frank blushed slightly. “I didn’t want to have to go back since I don’t know what kind of setup they have here.”
“What’re you guys doing, anyway?”
Frank and Shakespeare looked at Richards without saying anything. He raised his hands. “Okay, okay, I get it, not a word.” He reached in and grabbed two large duffel bags and hauled them out. Frank and Shakespeare followed suit, and they all headed for the elevators.
“What floor?” asked Richards as he gently placed the two bags on the floor.
“Twenty-third,” said Shakespeare, panting slightly, the size of the items he had chosen apparently inversely proportional to their weight. He rested them on the railing in the elevator, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was flushed, sweat trickled down his forehead, and his hair was already damp. You fat bastard, you need to start doing something about this.
The elevator chimed its arrival and they were greeted by a smiling Aynslee which warmed his heart, caused Frank to look away, probably afraid of what his face might reveal if he looked too closely at her figure, and Richards to stare, mouth agape. “You’re Aynslee Kai!”
She smiled at the young Officer. “Yes I am, and you are?”
“Officer Richards,” he gushed. “Brent.”
The boy was obviously star struck. And blocking the doors. “Let’s go, this isn’t The Dating Game. We can all get to know each other later.”
Aynslee laughed and took one of the pieces of equipment from Shakespeare. He was about to protest but she swung around so quickly with it, that he didn’t have time. He was also grateful for the lighter load. The four of them strode deeper into the depths of the station’s offices, it still abuzz with a full staff.
“Doesn’t anybody go home around here?”
Aynslee looked over her shoulder at him. “We have a morning shift for the morning and noon news broadcasts, then we have an evening shift for the supper and late night broadcasts. I’m on in about an hour to anchor the eleven o’clock news, then I’m done for the night.”
She knocked on the door of a large, windowless room, then opened it. Inside, what Shakespeare could only describe as a stereotypical computer geek, skinny, pale, pimply face, messy hair, jumped out of his seat, grinning through his braces. The poor kid!
“Hi, Aynslee.” The long, drawn out way he said the first syllable of her name, combined with the nasally voice and awkward elbows pointing out, hands on his ribcage, not hips, a slight sway to the side with his legs, made the boy look like an italicized letter ‘t’, and made Shakespeare think he was being punk’d. Revenge of the Nerds, anyone?
“Reggie, these are the policemen I told you about.” A quick round of introductions later and Frank along with the resident nerd were setting up the new equipment, chattering back and forth like an episode of Star Trek. Shakespeare turned from the spectacle when Aynslee took his arm.
“I have to go on air in a little bit. I’ll be back around midnight.” She glanced at the two uber dorks, smiling. “If you don’t want to hang out with these two, you can come and watch the broadcast from the control booth.”
Her voice sounded almost hopeful. He glanced at the two. “Frank, how long will you need?”
“Not sure, Detective, hopefully no more than an hour.”
“Come get me when you’re in, I’ll be at the control booth.”
“Will do.”
Shakespeare followed Aynslee
to the control booth and was introduced to the room. When word spread of his arrival, more and more people peeked into the booth to introduce themselves and thank him for saving Aynslee’s life. It was nice to be appreciated, but at the same time he was getting a little self-conscious and a little sweaty from standing for almost twenty minutes of handshakes in the closed environment.
Thankfully the show interrupted the pleasantries, and he was able to settle into a chair and watch the principals arrive, Aynslee throwing a wave and a smile at him as she took her seat at the anchor desk, her makeup touched up and her hair freshly fluffed. She looked stunning. He wondered if she had parents that sat at home every night watching her broadcast. He could run her name through the system and find out, but he had sworn he’d never do that outside of business. He knew cops who ran girlfriends and ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriends, especially if there was a child involved, all the time, but he had never done it. He felt it was an abuse of the position. He’d have to just ask her one day.
The newscast started, and he found himself transfixed, almost mesmerized by her voice, her look. She’s so good at this! He had to admit he hardly ever watched the evening news anymore—he was usually sawing lumber by then. But he remembered local news always being amateur hour, but not here, not today. Aynslee’s delivery was smooth, the feed he was watching looked professional, and when they cut to the first commercial break, he had to stop himself from clapping. There was only one way he could describe his feelings about the entire experience. He was proud. Proud of seeing this young woman who had been through so much, such a short time ago, take life by the horns once more, and attack it with a vengeance.
“Okay, Aynslee, we’ve got a breaking item that we’re going to go live to.”
“What is it?”
“Shaw’s at the Waldorf, he’s got a breaking story on Richard Tate.”
Shakespeare saw her jaw drop then quickly recover. He wasn’t as quick. Is my case about to go public? He leaned forward as the countdown from five began.
“Welcome back, we now go live to the Waldorf Astoria, where our Crime Reporter Jonathan Shaw is standing by with this breaking story.”
His eyes flew up to the monitors to watch the feed. “Good evening, Aynslee. I’m here at the Waldorf Astoria with an update to our shocking news story from earlier today. As reported earlier, Richard Tate, the flamboyant millionaire, some say billionaire, real estate developer, was taken to hospital earlier today with what had been described initially as a heart attack, but now has been characterized as a panic attack. What this reporter has just learned, is where this panic attack occurred. Right here at the Waldorf Astoria. Sources have confirmed that Richard Tate was found lying in the hallway, unconscious, when paramedics were called and he was rushed to the hospital. What caused the attack is not known at this time, however police are now looking for an unknown companion, described as an extremely attractive blonde, twenty-something female, who was apparently a regular guest of Mr. Tate’s at the Waldorf.” Shakespeare’s eyes darted to Aynslee who was looking at him with a quizzical look on her face. He shrugged his shoulders, indicating this was all news to him. “This is Jonathan Shaw, WACX news, reporting live from the Waldorf. Back to you, Aynslee.”
Shakespeare left the booth, pulling his phone out and calling Trace who immediately picked up.
“Trace.”
“Looks like the press are getting a little closer than I’d like to the Tate story. According to the breaking news report I just watched, the word is out that he was at the Waldorf when he had his panic attack, and that apparently we are looking for a young blonde companion.”
“Really? Nice of them to let us know.”
“Indeed. I guess it’s better than them knowing we already found her. You still at Sandy’s?”
“Yup, just finishing up.”
“Okay, I’m following up some leads here, I want you to take a photo of our three vics down to the Waldorf, and see what you can find out. Now that the story is public, the tongues might start wagging. Threaten them with interfering in a police investigation if they try to stonewall you.”
“I’ll hit the door men and bellhops first, leave the managers ’til last. Their first call will be to their lawyers.”
“Good thinking. See if anybody has seen Henwood there before, how often Alders was there, and see if our friend Sandy ever made an appearance. And check on Vinny, I sent him to the room after I talked to Tate, so he may have something. Shake every damned tree there until something falls out. Good luck.”
Shakespeare snapped his phone shut and headed to the computer lab. When he opened the door, his jaw dropped.
“What the hell is that?”
NINE
Trace showed her badge to the officer manning the door to the biggest suite she had ever seen. As she entered she whistled at the size, but gagged at the gaudiness of it all. This was definitely not her style. The blue was off-putting, just too regal for her tastes. You can never go wrong with earth tones. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Dusty rose never hurts either. She had tried a couple of dusty rose throw cushions on her chocolate brown couch and immediately regretted the forty dollars she had spent on them, the effect akin to a Valentine’s Day chocolate rather than a touch of class. Fortunately she had been able to re-gift them to an old high school girlfriend who was getting married.
That signaled the end of her dusty rose phase. And royal blue would never enter her apartment.
She stepped further in and found Vinny in the bathroom.
“Find anything?”
Vinny looked up and nodded. “Get that light for me,” he said, waving at the switch to her right with the bottle of luminal he had just finished spraying the marble walls of the large soaker tub with. She flicked the switch, immediately plunging them in darkness. Large glowing blue stains could be seen everywhere—in the tub, on the fixtures, all over the walls.
“Holy shit!” whispered Trace.
“Somebody definitely died here, in this tub.”
“They weren’t killed somewhere else, then moved?”
“No.” Vinny quickly snapped photographs of the area, then pointed at one part of the wall. “See the spray pattern? That’s arterial. You don’t get that from a dead body, you only get that from a live body. And you can’t fake it either by throwing blood at a wall.” He stood back to survey the area. “No, somebody definitely died here.”
“I wonder if our friend hadn’t have done what he did, would we have found something similar in the first crime scene.”
Vinny nodded as he flicked the light switch back on. “I think so. Whoever did this either didn’t know our techniques, or didn’t care.”
“What about the bedroom? Shakespeare said Tate woke up and there was blood everywhere?”
Vinny shook his head. “Nothing on the bed, almost nothing in the bedroom, just a couple of drops here and there, most likely falling off of him and onto the carpet as he made his way into the bathroom. Lots of blood evidence around the sink, most likely from someone cleaning themselves up, Tate probably.”
“But he said the bed was soaked in blood, apparently he slipped?”
“My guess is the vic was drugged, carried into the bathtub, had her throat slit, then the killer held a sheet over her throat, soaking it in blood, put it on the bed, then placed Tate on top of it. His normal movements would cover him in the blood, probably wiped some on him just for good measure, then when they did the cleanup, just pulled the sheet, the mattress cover, bagged them, and put a new cover and sheet on the bed.”
“And the body, any theories on how they moved that?”
“I’ve got theories comin’ out of my ass, but nothing I can prove. I’d review the security tapes.”
“I’m already having them pulled. Probably used one of those big luggage carts I saw downstairs. Load the body in a trunk, put it on the cart, wheel it to the parking lot, and you’re free and clear.”
Vinny nodded. “Could be.” He peaked around the corn
er to make sure none of the rest of the crew was within earshot. “How’s the kid doing?”
Trace shrugged her shoulders. “No idea. He’s with Shakespeare at the news station, apparently they’re pulling some video feeds from those cameras and he didn’t want to wait for a warrant.”
“Ballsy. Could screw up the case.”
“So? I’d rather have a perp get off a kidnapping rap on a technicality, than have a solid murder case.”
Vinny sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Effin’ system drives me nuts sometimes.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. Violate a guilty man’s rights in a case like this, big deal. If he turns out to be innocent, then throw the book at us. Don’t let a guilty man go free because we were trying to save a life. These goddamned judges should spend a few years in our shoes before they ever sit on the bench.”
“Some DA’s I know could stand a few years in the trenches as well. They’re so quick to make a damned plea bargain, they let violent criminals off with a wrist slap so they can keep their dockets clear.”
“Ahhh, if only I were Queen for a day, I’d straighten the whole damned system out.”
“You’d have my vote.”
“Oh well, what ya gonna do.” She looked at her watch. “I’m going to go check out those tapes.”
“Any luck on the canvas?”
“Not much, they confirmed that Tate and Alders were regulars here, almost every Saturday night. No one recognized Angela Henwood or Sandy Thorton.”
“But it establishes a pattern, doesn’t it?”
“Yup. Anyone who wanted to target Tate would know exactly where he was, with no security, once a week.”
“Assuming Tate was the target.”
Trace looked at Vinny. “What, you think Alders was?”
“Well, she’s dead, isn’t she?”
Trace paused for a moment. “Well, yeah, but I thought we were working under the premise that Alders was killed to frame Tate, assuming of course Tate is telling the truth?”
Tick Tock (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #2) Page 17