Denouement

by E. H. Reinhard

“I rang the bell, and he ran. Hank caught him out back, trying to get away.”

  “Runner, huh? So it’s pretty safe to assume he’s guilty. Has he said anything yet?” Bostok asked.

  “Nothing of any importance yet,” I said. The thought of him putting me and my family in direct danger was eating at me more with each passing second. “I’m going to make him talk, though.”

  Bostok held up his hand. “We’ll deal with it, Kane. The right way. Don’t go off the deep end.” He pointed at his computer screen. “I need to wrap up what I’m working on here. Sam wanted me to give him a bunch of bullet points on the whole Carmen Simms and Angel White mess. He’s putting together something for me to read to the media at our press conference later.”

  “What are you going to say that the media doesn’t already know? She didn’t give Hank and I anything when we went to talk to her. Unless you call laughing and generally acting like a crazy person something,” I said.

  “Yeah, her one-sided conversation with her dead parents was interesting, to say the least,” Hank said.

  “We’re just going to give them an official overview of the events that transpired and that we’re working in conjunction with other departments to put the whole thing to bed.”

  I nodded. “How much longer do you have?” I asked.

  “Um, it should be about ten minutes or so until I’m finished. Let Iler sit in there and stare at the wall for a bit. I want to be in there when we start talking to him.”

  I didn’t respond. I knew the captain only wanted to be in on the interview to make sure I didn’t beat Iler to a pulp.

  “Yeah, let’s let him simmer for a bit. Maybe the gravity of the situation will get him talking,” Hank said. He looked at me. “Come on, let’s grab a coffee.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  We walked from Bostok’s office to the lunch room. I jammed a single-serve coffee in one of the machines and slapped the button to make it start. Hank did the same although with less violent movements.

  “So what’s up with the house?” Hank asked.

  I assumed he was trying to get my mind off of the piece of garbage sitting in our interview room. I pulled my coffee from the machine and yanked the refrigerator door open, looking for some creamer—the condiments in the door rattled on the shelves. “We have an inspector going out with the realtor tomorrow.”

  Hank grabbed his coffee, blew across the top of the cup, and took a sip. “And if that goes well?” he asked.

  I let out a breath, tried to calm myself, and sat at one of the lunchroom tables. “Put in an offer, I guess.”

  “That’s cool. Are you going to hit them below the belt on the price?”

  I pulled in a mouthful of coffee and swallowed. “Callie and I have a number in mind that’s fair. It’s not too far off from the asking price. Everything I looked at already showed that their asking price is under market.”

  “You did your due diligence,” Hank said.

  I nodded and sat quietly for a moment. Hank sat across from me and stared at me, seemingly waiting for more conversation.

  “How’s the pregnancy thing going?” I asked.

  “We’re still trying.” Hank sipped his coffee. “Which isn’t the worst thing, if you know what I’m saying.”

  I smirked.

  “Yeah, I’m starting to have mixed feelings on the whole parenting thing though. I just don’t know if I can handle it. The damn puppy keeps us up at all hours of the night as it is. Last night, he slept between us. He threw up, covering us both. So we get up, clean up the mess, shower, and change the sheets. He immediately pukes again as soon as we lie down, this time everywhere. Headboard, bed, nightstand, pillows. I was actually amazed at how such a small animal could cause that much destruction. So we get up and do the whole cleaning process over again. I lie back down and feel something warm on my backside just as I’m fading off to sleep. Yeah, he’s peeing on me. I yank him out of bed and try running him to the tile in the bathroom. The whole time, there’s a stream making a little path across the carpet. By the time I set him down, he was finished. He just sat there and stared at me with those little puppy-dog eyes.”

  Smirking at the thought of Hank dealing with the dog, I let out a chuckle. “Why don’t you guys just get him a crate?”

  “We tried that. He just cries all night. It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever heard,” Hank said. “I don’t know, I’m sure things will settle down when he gets out of the puppy stage.”

  “I hope not,” I said. “The stories are priceless.”

  Bostok poked his head into the doorway of the lunchroom. “Are you guys ready?”

  Hank and I downed the rest of our coffees and followed the captain over to the interview rooms. We stood outside the door.

  “Rawlings, go get the recording equipment turned on,” Bostok said.

  “Yeah, Cap.” Hank walked into the observation room to flip everything on.

  “Are you going to be all right in there?” Bostok asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m serious, Kane. No bullshit. You need to keep your cool. No flying off the handle.”

  “I’ll be fine, Cap.”

  “Okay.”

  Hank walked back out to us. “We’re set,” he said.

  I twisted the interview room’s doorknob, and we entered.

  Hank and I took chairs across from Iler. Bostok leaned against the wall in the corner.

  I stared Iler in the face, my blood boiling. The captain’s words about keeping my cool kept playing through my head. I tried to listen to them. I mustered one word. “Talk.”

  Iler stared down at his feet. He said nothing.

  “You know how this goes,” Hank said. “You know why you’re here. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

  Iler looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Kane. I made a mistake.”

  I dug my fingers into my eyes, hard. Then I ran one hand over my forehead. “Talk,” I said.

  Iler shook his head. “I’m so stupid. I should have just turned the damn boat around.”

  He sealed his guilt with that sentence. I wanted to jump over the table and strangle him. Bostok walked over and stood behind me. He pressed down on my shoulders so I couldn’t leave my seat. I looked back at him. “I’m fine,” I said.

  I looked back at Iler. “I assume you’re talking about the Illusion, the day we were searching the water.”

  Iler let out a breath as he continued shaking his head. “Azarov was on the damn boat. I found him back at the marina, half dead. He was filled with bullet holes. He could barely speak. He offered me a hundred grand to help him get out of there.”

  I shook my head. “So you aided and abetted a wanted murderer?” I asked.

  Iler didn’t respond. He looked down.

  “How bad of shape was he in?” I asked. “I shot him point blank with a fifty-cal Desert Eagle.”

  “Yeah, I remember hearing that that day. You must have missed or something. His face was messed up, his hand, his shirt was soaked with blood. That’s all I could tell. The guy was still functioning, though.”

  I clenched my jaw at the comment. I couldn’t imagine how I missed.

  “Where did you take him?” Bostok asked.

  “Nowhere. He used my phone to make a call, and someone picked him up. I got a bag of cash on my doorstep a few days later. That was it. I never had any contact with him after.”

  Iler’s story filled in a few holes, but not many.

  “But you had contact with someone else in their organization, didn’t you? Tell me about Yury Sokoloff,” I said.

  “I don’t know anyone by that name, but yes, I was contacted again.”

  “Enlighten us,” Bostok said.

  “Some guy called me and said that an app was being installed on my phone. He gave me instructions to call you as soon as I hung up. I asked why, and he said that it didn’t matter and to just do it. He said that he would be able to tell if I did.”

  “So you just we
nt along with it?” I asked. My anger built. “No questions asked? Just a ‘yes, sir’ to the mystery man on the other end of the phone?” I couldn’t contain my anger. I stood and leaned over the table at him, but Bostok grabbed me by the back of my suit jacket. My face was inches from Iler. “You put a tracking device on my phone, you piece of shit. Because of you, a hit squad followed me around, trying to kill me and my family!”

  Bostok yanked me back into my chair. “Enough!” he yelled.

  I scooted the chair back. My teeth grinding against each other, I looked away.

  “They threatened me,” Iler said.

  “Threatened you with what?” Bostok asked.

  “Exposing that I helped get Andrei Azarov out of there. The guy said if I didn’t do it, he would make an anonymous call to the station. He said if that didn’t work, they would just kill me.”

  “Nice new group of friends you made there.” Hank looked over at Bostok. “Cap, does the cell-phone tracking kind of sound like conspiracy to commit murder to you?”

  Bostok rubbed at his mustache. “Yeah, it kind of does. We’ll see what the district attorney thinks.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Look guys. I didn’t know what I was getting into. Yeah, it was stupid to take the money, but I damn well wasn’t trying to get Kane killed.”

  I had sat quiet long enough and didn’t want to hear another word out of Iler’s mouth, so I stood and motioned for Iler to do the same. “Get up, shithead,” I said. I pulled the handcuffs from my belt and spun Iler around by his shoulder. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  Iler hesitated.

  I brought my face close to his ear and quietly said, “Please try to resist.”

  His hands shot behind him in an instant.

  I linked him up. “You’re under arrest for aiding and abetting.” Then I read him his rights and sat him back down before walking to the door and reaching for the knob.

  “I’ll go on record with everything I told you. I’ll give you anything you need. I’ll testify against the guy on the phone. Anything. Let me just talk to someone about some kind of deal,” Iler said.

  I looked back over my shoulder.

  Bostok patted Iler on the back. “I think we got everything we needed, actually. But thanks for sharing that with us.”

  Bostok and Hank headed toward me.

  “I want an attorney. Quentin Lawrence,” Iler said.

  The three of us walked out and went next door. We took seats in the observation room.

  “Quentin Lawrence, huh?” Hank asked.

  Bostok shrugged. “Think about it. Lawrence represents every drug dealer and mid-level criminal in the city. The guy makes deals with the district attorney’s office for a living. That’s why he wants Lawrence. If anyone is going to get him some kind of a plea deal, that’s the guy.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” I asked.

  “I’ll make the call to the district attorney’s office and Quentin Lawrence,” Bostok said. “I’ll get something put together where we can get him stashed away.”

  “How are you going to pull that off?” I asked.

  “I’ll figure out something.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’m going to head to my office and make a call.”

  “Something important?” Bostok asked.

  “I just want to check in with Callie.”

  Chapter 5

  I sat at my desk, scooped up the phone, and dialed Callie.

  “Hey, babe,” she said.

  “Hey. How’s everything there?” I asked.

  “We’re fine. Just kind of sitting around.”

  “Okay. We got some news. It looks like, if all goes well, we should be able to get you guys out of there tomorrow night.”

  “Really?” Callie asked.

  “The feds have something in the works. I’m not a part of whatever they are doing, but they will be keeping me in the loop.”

  “Good.” Callie lowered her voice to a whisper. “Melissa is pregnant.”

  “What?” My head jerked back. “She didn’t say anything to me about that.”

  “She just told your dad, Sandy, and me a minute ago. Act surprised when she tells you.”

  “Nah, I’m going to bust you and tell her you already told me.” I smiled.

  “Carl, don’t.”

  “I’m just kidding. So you guys are all good there?”

  “We’re fine. Baby Kane has been kicking like you wouldn’t believe. I’m touching her little toes right now.”

  “I think you meant to say his toes.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Call me later tonight. I’m going to pass the phone off to your dad. He said he wanted to talk to you.”

  “Okay, Cal. Love you.”

  “Love you more. Bye, babe. Here’s your dad.”

  Callie put my father on the phone. We talked for a couple minutes, and then he passed the phone off to Sandy. After Sandy came my sister. I put on my best surprised voice when she told me she was expecting. I finished up with a quick talk to my nephew, Tommy. He spent a few minutes telling me about his latest toy truck and all the features. After saying good-bye, I hung up and rocked back in my chair.

  I rubbed the stubble on my face. Though speaking with my family and Callie had eased my anger a bit, it was still there. While Iler’s involvement disgusted me, knowing that Ray was alive and roaming around the city disturbed me more. Just waiting on whatever Faust had developing wasn’t sitting right with me in the least.

  My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. As I slid it out to see who it was, someone banged on the glass behind my head. I looked over my shoulder to see Bostok.

  “We got one,” he said.

  I stood and went next door to Bostok’s office. Hank was right on my heels, coming from his desk in the bullpen. Bostok had the phone to his ear at his desk. I assumed he was speaking with our dispatch and getting more information. The captain said a few words and hung up.

  “What do we have?” I asked.

  “That was the front. A 9-1-1 call just came in. Wife found her husband beaten and shot in their home. Did you guys get the address from dispatch?”

  “Yeah, I have it,” Hank said.

  “Let me know what you get.”

  Hank and I left Bostok’s office for the parking structure. We piled into a car and headed out. The GPS on Hank’s phone said the address was under three miles from the station. With traffic, surface streets, and stop lights, getting there took us the better part of fifteen minutes. We pulled into the old neighborhood just before eleven. Two of our patrol cars were parked along the grass shoulder of the road. Hank and I pulled behind them and got out.

  I took in the scene, counting only five houses on the block, three on our side and two on the other. The houses themselves were spaced far enough away from each other that a greedy developer could have jammed another between each. The street was mostly shaded from the sun by large, old oak trees. All the homes looked to be from the early part of the last century, yet they all appeared to have been kept up with nice landscaping. I didn’t spot a single palm tree anywhere. In my handful of years of working in Tampa, I hadn’t ever stepped foot in that particular part of town. It reminded me of the older Wisconsin neighborhood I’d grown up in.

  “Have you ever been over here for anything, Hank?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Nice area, though.”

  I nodded and pointed toward the house. Officer Lowen was standing at the front door. Hank and I walked up the driveway and across the brick sidewalk and stepped up onto the front porch.

  “Lowen,” I said. “What are we looking at here?”

  “It looks like we have a home invasion. The guy was roughed up prior to being shot twice. We have a safe in the back bedroom that is standing open. The wife, a Becky Brumfeld, said that there was a few thousand dollars missing from inside.”

  “Okay. Where is the wife now?” I asked.

  “Over at the neighbors’. Officer Tate is there with her, getting a stat
ement.”

  “Did you call the coroner?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah. He’s on his way.”

  I heard a car pulling into the driveway at my back and looked over my shoulder. The driver was Rick, from our forensics department. He stepped out of his car and went to the trunk. He walked toward us a moment later, carrying his kit.

  “Morning, guys,” Rick said. He climbed the stairs of the front porch.

  “Hey, Rick,” I said.

  Hank gave him a nod.

  “What have we got?” Rick asked.

  “We haven’t been inside yet,” I said.

  “Well, let’s go and take a look.”

  Rick squeezed past Hank, Lowen, and me into the house. We filed in behind him.

  “The body is in the bedroom at the end of the hall,” Lowen said.

  We made our way back there. Rick stepped inside the room while the rest of us waited at the open bedroom door. The man lay at the foot of the bed, facing us and tied to a chair with a pair of jumper cables. Blood soaked the brown carpet around his body and the bathrobe he wore. The man was slim with long brown hair. He had a thin face, tattoos, and a bullet hole right between his eyes. Another bullet wound created a hole in his chest. He’d obviously been beaten as noticeable contusions covered his face. His nose looked as if it had been broken.

  “This is the homeowner?” Hank asked.

  “Don Brumfeld,” Lowen said.

  Rick knelt next to the body. He set his kit beside him, opened it, and gloved his hands. He looked over the man, touching his cheeks and neck. He looked up at Lowen. “Who found him?”

  “His wife.”

  “About how long ago?”

  “Maybe a half hour,” Lowen said.

  “Whatever happened here went down fairly recently. A few hours, tops. Rigor usually starts in the small muscles of the face and neck. We have nothing present yet.”

  “His wife said she was only gone for two hours. She left with their daughter to drop her off at school and then went grocery shopping. Came back and found this,” Lowen said.

  “Interesting that she leaves and this happens while she’s out of the house,” Hank said. “The level of beating suggests a man, though.”

  I jerked my chin at the chair. “Looks like a kitchen chair.”