Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1)

by Hamilton, Sharon

  Calling card.

  This was someone who was begging them to chase after him. Well, Mayfield might just have to comply.

  The coroner’s assistant came over and asked Mayfield to step aside so she could take another picture of the hands. She must’ve seen the same thing Mayfield did.

  “These were tied together after death, am I right?” Mayfield whispered to her.

  She nodded and clicked the camera, which set off a bright flash.

  “I know you can’t say anything officially, but how long has she been dead? Guess.”

  “More than a day, probably two.” She pointed to the excrement and fluids leaking all over Marla’s desk chair, which had formed in a puddle on the floor. Marla’s purple lips and chalky white skin were ghastly enough, but the white coating over her eyes was something right out of a horror film. If the perp had known her, he would have closed her eyes. With no apparent mutilation other than the fingers, it appeared this wasn’t personal. And too many clues had been left to be professional.

  Marla had been chosen because she’d had information. Information on Christy.

  Woodward stood next to him, a handkerchief over her mouth and nose. Mayfield watched her bring out a small brown bottle with lavender label that read Clarity. He’d seen several of the officers with this womanly brand of smelling salts around at the station.

  “Who found her, sir?” Woodward asked through the hankie.

  “The manager, when he opened this morning. I’m guessing the smell probably tipped him off.”

  “She died the night she made the call?”

  “April here thinks so. More than twenty-four hours ago, and that was the last anyone heard from her.”

  He collared the coroner’s assistant again. “Can I see the journal?”

  The book had been wrapped in an oversized clear evidence bag, left open on the same page it had been opened to when it had been found on the desk. Mayfield put on gloves and carefully removed it.

  The assistant frowned.

  Hilber had lost interest in chatting up a female reporter. “What’s this?” he asked, looking at the journal.

  “The lady’s notebook.”

  Hilber blanched, then furrowed his brow. “She able to name her attacker?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Mayfield showed him the passage.

  “Raised security concerns today on deaf ears. Now they’ve gone and hired a new janitor and not told us…” Hilber recited.

  “No. That’s Thursday’s entry, which she didn’t finish. Look at the one for Sunday.”

  “Christy Nelson has been attacked today by a crazed psycho who tied her up with her pantyhose. I tried to get her to call the police, but she seems to think there is an explanation for it. Though this happened off site, I’m going to bring it up at the next staff meeting, without naming names. Security has been lax lately.”

  Hilber beamed after he read it. “You’re right. All we need to do now is find the guy who attacked Christy. This lady was directing us right to the guy.”

  Mayfield watched Hilber’s back as the man chuckled his way out to the hallway, too happy with this finding. And a long way from his jurisdiction.

  He looked for the Navy guy and didn’t see him anywhere.

  The sergeant flipped through the day planner’s address and phone numbers, carefully. He found a listing for Christy Nelson, including her cell phone number and email. And her condo number: 14J. Checking back on the monthly calendar, he saw her name in the box for Thursday. And it wasn’t crossed out.

  He looked back at the journal entry. Would Marla have had the strength to get the book, open it up, and leave it perfectly centered on her desk, just before she died? And after the torture she’d been through, with the broken fingers, which was a specialty of the local youth gangs, would she have had the presence of mind to do this?

  He thought not. More than likely it was the recipe the killer needed to stage it to look like the other attack.

  Biggest question in Mayfield’s mind was why Hilber was so pleased with it.

  “Make sure I get prints on this,” he said to the assistant as he placed the book back in a new evidence bag she handed him.

  The attractive coroner’s assistant stood a little close beside him, holding out her clipboard so he could deposit the cellophane wrapped package on top. He’d known she had the hots for him, but he pretended to not pay attention. God, why were women always trying to ease his pain? And they were younger women, too. Still, her perfume was a welcome reprieve to the dastardly smell of rotting flesh and bodily fluids released after death.

  “I can get you a copy of the report tomorrow morning, unless you need a phone interview.”

  “Thanks, April. I appreciate that.” He did. But he didn’t look at her. Wasn’t fair to give her hope. Her eyes on his face and chest were soft and dewy. And dangerous. At least the part he could see. He smiled and whispered, “Thanks,” to the floor.

  He motioned Woodward to leave with him. They stepped out into the hallway just as Hilber ducked into the elevator. He’d just hung up his cell phone. He didn’t hold the doors for them, pretending to try to push the buttons a little too late. It was a complete act. Mayfield could see Hilber shrug as the elevator doors closed and left he and Woodward standing in the hallway.

  He cursed and heard Woodward giggle at his side.

  “Sir, if it makes it any better, I can’t stand the guy either. I mean, why is he even here?” she said.

  He appreciated her sentiment.

  “Probably because he’s got the Feds convinced it has something to do with his murders in the Santa Nella forest. And I’m sure they are linked. Just not sure how Hilber’s putting the pieces together.”

  “Understood, sir. So can I ask?”

  “You honestly think I know?” He was pleased she thought so, but everything was swimming around and he didn’t know where it landed.

  “Yes. I think your instincts are the best I’ve ever seen. That’s why I’m here. To learn, sir. If I became half the cop you are, I’d consider myself lucky.”

  “I thank you.” He looked down at the top of her head. He’d never noticed how pretty her hair was—and what the hell was he doing? How easily a woman could get to him, still.

  “I want the trash searched. Probably won’t be in the gym area, but I’m guessing there’s a cardboard or plastic wrapper for those pantyhose, and if I’m not mistaken, they would be a medium, the size Marla would wear. I don’t know about the black, but maybe she liked the color. Someone would know. Ask her friends at the gym. They might have seen her dress up to go out. Most women would have a pair of flesh-toned hose around.”

  “Very good, sir. Consider it done. How about the girl, Christy? Should I ask her?”

  “Nah, I’d leave her alone for now. She’s spooked out of her gourd. I need her cooperative.”

  In the early afternoon, Mayfield got a call from Woodward. They’d found a trash bag in the back of the complex. It contained a cellophane wrapper with one pair of black pantyhose remaining, size medium. It had been a two-pack.

  And there were dustable prints all over it.

  Hilber dropped by Mayfield’s office, without his buddy this time.

  “You guys done with the Hummer yet?” Hilber looked like he was trying to whistle or do something to look like he wasn’t as interested as he clearly was.

  “Haven’t heard back from forensics. Should be soon, though. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

  “And I’m guessing no one’s called about it?”

  “You mean called to claim it?”

  “Yup.” Hilber checked his fingernails as he leaned into the doorframe.

  “That’s a Roger that,” Mayfield returned.

  “All his equipment still logged in?”

  “Everything I was given.” Mayfield wondered why Warren was concerned about the guns and shit.

  “Got the coroner’s or crime scene reports yet?”

  Mayfield wasn’t going to tell him abo
ut the pantyhose wrapper they’d found. He leaned into his desk, throwing down a pen. “Hilber, suppose I refrain from asking you what the hell you’re doing over here, sticking your nose into my business? How about you quit interfering? You’ll get your goddamned report soon enough.”

  The cold blue stare Mayfield got froze his bones. Given the chance, this man would put a bullet in the back of his head rather than get caught.

  “How did you boys in the Sherriff’s Department manage to get the impound order?” Mayfield asked.

  “Jurisdictional hospitality. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.” Hilber had leaned back. Mayfield would almost say with a sneer.

  “Who signed it?” Mayfield wanted to know who Warren’s accomplice was. He could check the records, of course, but wanted to see the man spew it out.

  “Carpenter.”

  Now there was another man Mayfield didn’t trust. Carpenter was known to be a little heavy-handed, especially with the swabs, but he was hell on wheels with the ladies, too.

  He was beginning to understand the real enemy in this game.

  Chapter 26

  The little team was driving through a seedy part of San Diego. Fredo had given Gunny the directions to his informant’s neighborhood.

  “Not sure it’s a good idea to be seen talking to him. Might make him shy,” Fredo said.

  “So call him,” Cooper squawked.

  “Oh, yes. Let me just call 4-1-1 and see if AT&T has the numbers to the Gang Information Directory.”

  “Think we’d better drop you off a few blocks away,” Kyle offered.

  “That’s what I was thinkin’,” Fredo replied.

  “You wired, Fredo?” Gunny asked.

  “Got my Invisio right here.” He flicked his finger hard on his right ear. Coop jumped in his seat, swearing. “And Coop has the earphones, as you can see.”

  Cooper bore an expression like he was going to eat the earphones or throw them out of the window.

  “Ladies, please,” Kyle pleaded.

  They passed over several railroad tracks filled with rail cars spray-painted with colorful gang graffiti artwork. A local news crew had done a series on street art. Some of the members were talented and could have made a living as artists if the drug money wasn’t so lucrative.

  Surrounding buildings were in a sorry state. Everywhere there was rubble; broken bottles, broken windows. In spite of it all, a small group of five- and six-year-old boys was trying to play soccer in one of the alleyways they passed. Laundry hung between windows. Dogs were barking inside apartments that had bars over the windows, many of which were boarded up or coated with tinfoil. It reminded Kyle of some of the killing zones in Afghanistan, except without all the incessant sandy dust that seemed to blow right through him. Kids played soccer there, too.

  But there were not many dogs. People had goats, but those weren’t pets.

  Gunny parked the beater where Fredo indicated. Fredo exited the truck and wandered through the rubble that was the sidewalk.

  Cooper slouched back in the seat, donning his baseball cap, which covered the earphones. Kyle used a small set of binoculars he’d fished out of his pocket. Without his usual uniform, including his bulletproof vest, he felt hairless and naked. He didn’t like the feeling one bit.

  “You got me?” The small radio speaker squawked. Cooper was hearing it in stereo, and recording it.

  “Yeah, you little spic. You know there’s a hole in your jeans right where your butthole is?”

  Cooper and Fredo had a routine that kept them from getting nervous.

  “Musta been that quickie last night.” Fredo exaggerated his hip swing.

  “Nah, I think it was your farts, Taco man.”

  “Well, even rotting goats smell better than yours. Too many vitamins.”

  “I’m going to break Gunny’s record. I’ll be getting it up when you can’t see yours.”

  “Okay, ladies. We got incoming,” Fredo whispered.

  Fredo spewed off Spanish slang no one could follow. The guy could talk faster than an automatic. He spliced in some English, and as the other speaker followed suit, they continued in English.

  “Yo. I got some Franklins here for you. Thought you might want a little party. Thought I’d make a donation to your college fund, or an investment in your future,” Fredo said.

  “What’d you have in mind?” the male voice asked. “Minding the girls, Fredo?”

  “Nah. I got that covered. Too much, as a matter of fact.”

  “Ain’t no such thing.”

  “I hear you. Okay, now for the reason I’m here. Word has it you got some information, and I’m buyin’.”

  “Didn’t take you for a buyer.”

  “Information.”

  “No ladies, man? We gots the best.”

  “I’m saving money for a little chiquita I knocked up in LA. You feel me?”

  “Shit, Fredo. It’s free. They got a free clinic here.”

  “No free clinic. She’s not legal. And I’m having this baby.”

  “You’re having it. Thought the lady did all that.”

  “You know what I mean. Trying to get respectable. Make an honest woman of her.”

  “Get in line. They don’t even ask, if you want to go the other way.”

  “I’m not doin’ it that way. Don’t want any complications. And I love the chiquita.”

  There was silence for a minute. Fredo pushed. “Hey, sorry man, if you’re not comfortable with this. I’ll just move on. What was I thinking?”

  “No, it’s cool. Who’re you lookin’ for?”

  “Calls himself Caesar. Runs girls, and guns too, I hear. I need to find him, man.”

  “I don’t know no Caesar.”

  “Right. And I’m not Mexican. How much.”

  “Three, maybe four.”

  “How about one to start and then if you got more, you get more.”

  “Okay. He works out of his bar, the Los Ladies.”

  They could hear Fredo peeling off a bill and handing it to the informant. “Here’s a Franklin. What else you got?”

  “I’m not too comfortable with anything else. There’s a guy you might want to talk to.”

  “He buying?”

  “Maybe. He works out of Los Ladies.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes as he looked at Cooper. The topless bar that specialized in bathroom sex, forged papers, and drug deals. Quite the place.

  “I’ve been there a time or two.”

  “But you don’t ask for Caesar. You ask for his woman, Mia.”

  The team heard Fredo stutter. “Mia, is it? Sure, I’ll ask for her.”

  Kyle heard the banter in Spanish and a slapping handshake. They heard the familiar crinkle of paper.

  Makes two hundred.

  Fredo questioned the male. “Hey, when was the last time you saw Caesar and this Mia?”

  “Haven’t seen Caesar for a few days. I’ve only seen Mia at the Ladies. She dances there sometimes.”

  “Uh huh.” They could hear Fredo breathing fast.

  “He’s been flashing around some green. Had a very successful few days, I’d say.”

  “So if he wasn’t at the Ladies, where would he be? I’m kinda in a hurry.”

  “That’s an expensive question.”

  “How much?”

  “Another two at least.”

  Fredo sighed, breathing heavy in the microphone. He lowered his voice and, in a whisper, added, “Okay, this better be good. I got three hundred here. Where does the dude live?”

  “He lives with his mama, and don’t the fuck tell him I told you. The yellow house on Greenwich.”

  “I know it.” Fredo said. Kyle did, too. It was a block away from Armando’s mother’s home.

  “If you boys are smart you’d get in on this. Gonna get yourself rich, man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just thought you were going to sell something to Caesar. He’s buying. Big time.”

  “I considered it.”
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br />   “I’ll bet you did. Hell of a lot more than Uncle Sam pays. You military types are sitting on a gold mine. Caesar buys the stuff cheap, too. Sells it back to the gangs and makes a buttload of green.”

  “It’s a good business model.”

  “Might as well secure your retirement. War’s going to be over soon. You guys will be out of a job.”

  Not in your dreams, dickwad. Kyle was amazed how naïve people were, even gang-bangers.

  “That’s for sure.” Fredo played along.

  “Thanks, man. Be safe.”

  Kyle was worried he’d already asked too many questions. Now that they knew where Caesar was, finding Armando might not be hard. He hoped. He heard Fredo whistle as he walked back and came into view. Kyle covered him with his sidearm just in case. The informant did not accompany him.

  “Gunny, get in the passenger seat. Now,” Kyle barked. Gunny’s frame barely made it by the time Fredo opened the driver’s side door and got in.

  Fredo fired up the beater, which backfired. They turned around and went back the way they’d come in.

  “They’re buying guns and shit all right,” Fredo said in disgust. Everyone was quiet for what they knew was coming. “And they’re using Mia.” Fredo turned and looked at Kyle over the back of the seat. “You think she’s back there already?”

  “Fredo, she made her bed.” Kyle said the obvious.

  “The woman’s like a cat with nine lives, and wasting all of them. All at once.”

  “Some people do that.” Kyle added, “Can’t help those who don’t care.”

  Cooper was carefully winding the wires of the headset around a white plastic cone. He positioned them inside a small case that held the miniature recorder. He leaned against the window.“So what’s up now, boss?”

  “I gotta make a couple of calls.”

  Kyle had been places that had scared him shitless. This was even more frightening. He dialed Christy, who picked up on the second ring.

  “Hi there,” He said.

  “Kyle! Oh, my God, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

  “I was worried. I still am.”

  He had to be careful. “I told you not to worry. I said I’d call you.”