by Jon Mills
He got back on the phone to Nico.
“Angelo, what can I do for you?”
“Besides sending me my money?”
“Is he dead?” Nico asked.
Angelo sneered. “Dana Grant and Nora Gilbert. You recognize either name?”
“Should I?”
“Winchester said he was here because of a friend. Did he mention a name to you?”
“No.”
“You don’t recognize any of the names?”
He heard him suck air between his teeth. “Nothing comes to mind.”
“You know, Nico, he killed my cousin Pat.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Nico?”
“I told you, Angelo. You send your men after him, be prepared to bury them.”
He at least expected to have him extend his condolences but nah, nothing except shit came from his mouth.
“You’re a fucking piece of shit. Perhaps I should bury you.”
He laughed on the other end. “It’s a long flight to New York, and I’m not sure you’re ready to deal with our winters. You got to be real cold-blooded. Maybe that’s why Jack is still alive and you’re whining like a bitch to me. Now I told you. You had your chance to kill him, whatever you do from here on out is on your head.”
The phone went dead. The bastard hung up on him. He couldn’t believe it. He clenched his jaw and put the phone down. His eyes returned to the computer screen, and he narrowed in on the two names. “Which one is it?” His finger hovered over the screen. Two women’s faces, one snapshot from the crime scene, the other from them appealing for information. Both beautiful women, both divorced which meant he was dealing with a female.
“Fuck it, I’ll kill both of you.”
Chapter 17
Had the entire city gone mad? To add insult to injury, Sanchez was the one that called it in — all of which meant Dickson would hear about it and she was already hearing rumors that he was pissed over the way the investigation was being handled.
Like what did he expect? They were doing the best they could under the circumstances.
“Now just keep your cool, Hudson,” Romero said as they approached the crowd of uniformed officers. Hudson still hadn’t forgiven Sanchez for the previous night when he’d disregarded her orders for him to stand down until backup arrived. It could have turned out a hell of a lot worse. She scowled at him as they ducked under the police tape and observed the dead man against the black metal railing that encircled Pioneer Monument. He was a Caucasian male in his early thirties, cropped dark hair, and wearing a windbreaker, jeans and Nike sneakers. He was slumped over, a single dark hole drilled into his head with a thin trail of blood that looked as if it had already dried.
Sanchez broke away from a group of officers. He shuffled over, a look of arrogance masking his face.
“The vic’s name is Wyatt Donahue. Found here forty minutes ago by a passerby. They phoned it in. He’s a cabbie here in town. Single round to the forehead from a 9mm. Execution style. It has all the earmarks of a gangland slaying but from what I’ve been able to glean from the family, he was clean as a whistle. No criminal record. Not even one parking ticket. He was married with kids. One hell of a way to go.”
Hudson rose up from inspecting him and turned his way.
Sanchez rubbed his chin. “Oh, and he was found with this on him.” He ferreted into his jacket pocket.
Romero was quick to jump on it. “Is that the work of our boy?”
“Not unless his name is Jack Winchester.”
Sanchez pulled out an evidence bag with a note inside and shook it like he was trying to dry a Polaroid.
“Winchester?” That name immediately caught her attention. “Let me take a look at that.”
“You know him?” Sanchez asked handing over the evidence. Hudson didn’t answer so he continued. “Not much to read. Looks like whoever did this was trying to send a message to him. Seems unrelated to the Zodiac, but what do I know?”
Hudson slapped on some latex gloves and fished the scrap of paper out of the plastic bag. Scrawled in black ink was a short message which read: Jack Winchester, his blood is on your hands. Keep running like a bitch, it’s only going to get worse.
The message confirmed what he’d told her last night. The mob was on his tail, the question was why? Who was this guy? And what had he got himself caught up in that would bring down the wrath of the mob? She looked back at the bloodied face of the victim.
“Please tell me the media didn’t arrive first?” Hudson asked.
“Oh yeah, Freddy Garbrant over there took a few snapshots. I expect it will be all over the news in the next hour.”
Hudson saw Freddy elbow his way out of the crowd. There was no point chasing after the guy. He was a sewer rat that would appear when there was trouble and disappear when he was to be held accountable.
“And the captain?” she asked.
Hudson was hoping he hadn’t got wind of it yet.
“Already called it in.”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Sanchez. Why did you do that?”
“Because—”
“Because you’re looking to impress, like you were the other night, when you nearly got civilians caught in a crossfire?”
He flipped her the bird. She’d seen it enough times. Patrol cops fed up with working the beat, looking for a cushy position behind a desk with higher pay. They were willing to take whatever risk they could to fast-track their way to the top, even if it meant stepping on toes or putting others’ lives at risk. That’s why she hated Sanchez so much. She’d met his kind in the academy. Like game show contestants eager to strike the red button and answer a question, every moment was a fucking time to shine.
Romero piped up. “Anyone see who dropped him off?”
“No witnesses, but we have an officer checking CCTV in the area.”
Romero ran a hand around the back of his neck and sighed. “Pretty ballsy move. Leaving a dead man in the middle of a public place?”
“I’ll second that.” Sanchez rested his knee on the lip of the wall. He sniffed hard, took off his cap and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Now I’m thinking either this Winchester guy offed him and someone is trying to get him arrested, or they are trying to lure this guy out. Some kind of retribution. What do you think?”
“I think you’re reckless,” Hudson snapped before locking eyes on him. “What the hell happened the other night? I gave you a direct order to stand down, and you ignored it. Now either you’ve got a death wish or you’re missing a few screws. My money is on the latter.”
“Screw you.”
She continued. “You’re walking a fine line, Sanchez.”
“Yeah, well I don’t answer to you.”
She shoved him back nearly causing him to lose his balance and Romero was quick to intervene. “Calm down.”
Sanchez jabbed his finger in front of her face. “Yeah that’s right, Romero, keep your flea on a string.” That only incited Hudson all the more, and she lunged at him again until Romero forcefully had to restrain her.
“He’s not worth it. Just let it go.”
Sanchez adjusted his collar and walked off with a scowl on his face.
Chapter 18
“You want to tell me what the hell you two are doing out there?” Dickson bellowed walking back and forth in front of Romero and Hudson. He’d called them into his office, twenty minutes after returning to write up a report about the incident, and follow up with the family.
“Our jobs,” Romero said.
“No. That would imply you actually getting results. So far I haven’t seen dick! That psycho has killed seven people so far, and now we have a guy left in the middle of one of the busiest areas in the city and no one saw anything? No one saw anything?”
“We’re thinking it’s mob related.”
“Mob related? And was the incident the other night, mob related?” Spit spilled from his mouth, hitting her in the face. He had a w
hite bubble of spit on the edge of his lips and she could smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath.
“I told Sanchez to stand down.”
“What the hell was he even doing in that part of the city?”
“Following orders.”
He cleared his throat and got real close. His nose was inches away from her face. “Hudson. Do you see the name etched on the door? Is it yours? Huh? No. You don’t give orders. I do. Now tell me, what the hell was he doing?”
She swallowed hard. “I put a tail on Ms. Grant.”
It took him a second to register who she was referring to.
“The victim’s mother?”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh I have to hear this.”
“Sir, based on intel from the FBI, it appeared Ms. Grant had a history with the mob. At that time we only had the one murder, I was doing my job, sir, and I assumed that the murder was related to the mob. I was wrong, or at least I think I was wrong.”
“Assumed? You thought wrong?” He paused for effect. “The taxpayers of San Francisco do not pay your wages to assume or think wrong, they expect a higher standard, and they certainly aren’t paying for you to waste police resources by having a victim’s mother tailed.” He stared blankly at her as if expecting an answer. She didn’t have one. That was it.
He turned and walked over to a small table in his office and poured out a cup of coffee. The man might as well have had it hooked up to him via intravenous as he was rarely caught without a cup in hand. He was in a wired state twenty-four seven.
He leaned back against his desk, one hand supporting him, the other for his mug.
“So which one of you is going to tell me who this Jack Winchester is?”
Romero pointed a finger at Hudson without hesitation. He’d never been one to argue, and if the ship was going down he would have been the first in a raft, to hell with anyone else. Thanks, Romero, she thought.
“Well, Hudson?”
She cleared her throat and sucked her lips in while nodding slowly. “Yeah, that kind of brings us back to the tail we placed on Dana Grant.”
“Why am I not surprised?” His mouth formed into a tight line. “Well go on… I’m all ears.”
“It appears Jack Winchester is a friend of Dana Grant.”
“And you’ve confirmed this?”
“Well yes. I mean, no, not with Ms. Grant.”
He got this confused expression, and she knew this was not going to end well. It was always the same, he wouldn’t let up until he got a clear answer and she couldn’t exactly give him that without going into detail on what occurred on the roof.
“Look, Cap, it appears he’s either a hired hand or a friend that’s looking out for Ms. Grant. I’m not sure right now at this stage how relevant it is to the investigation.”
“So what are you doing?”
“We have eyes in the sky, close to twenty officers patrolling key sites, we’re checking past records, sifting through known extortionists, prowlers, peepers and anyone with a strong affiliation with the NRA.”
“We’re also keeping tabs on the libraries, sir,” Romero added.
Hudson squeezed her eyes tight, she had hoped the whole incident of the Zodiac slipping through their fingers wouldn’t have made its way to the captain but it had.
“Libraries? What, just in case he decides to steal a copy of Investigations for Dummies!” he yelled. “I swear, I would reassign both of you but that would only slow this investigation down, and it’s already moving at a glacier pace.” He ran a hand through his hair and chugged down some more caffeine. Not that he needed any, he was already wired.
“Sir, I don’t know how he did it. The library’s computer system was being monitored for uploads, and we had plainclothes officers at all the branches.”
“I know you did. Officer Kobart chased the individual down, but he escaped.”
“What?”
“That’s right, while you two were twiddling your thumbs, our guy had sent in a decoy.”
Her brow knit together. She wasn’t following. All she’d heard was the video was online.
“He knew you had cops in plainclothes. He paid some kid to use the library card number and password to log on to a computer. Kobart moved in on the individual only to find a teenager. The real suspect had logged in at a different computer, but the second login didn’t register in the system because it only registers the first until it logs out.” He breathed out hard. “What I’m saying is he used a computer right underneath your noses. He knew about the cops.”
“How? Unless he works for the police, there is no way he could have known about it. Nothing was said over the radio.”
“I doubt this is his first rodeo, Hudson.”
She exhaled hard. He was one step ahead of them all the time. Dickson turned around and went back over to his desk. “And by the way, someone delivered this today. It’s for you, Hudson.”
He handed her an envelope, and she glanced at her name on the front. It was rigid and felt like a card inside.
“Who handed it in?”
“Do I look like the mailman? How the hell should I know?”
Hudson slipped a finger along the seam and cracked open the pale white cover and pulled out the greeting card. The second she saw the front, she knew it was from him. It had the sign of the Zodiac with the word SOON at the bottom. Upon opening it, two things registered. One was a note, which read: That was a very foolish thing you did, detective. I bet you think you’re real clever? Well you’re not as smart as me. You don’t find fingerprints because I cover mine in airplane cement. You won’t find me by my killing tools because every one was bought off the black market. As for the library, did you really think I would expose my face? Or not recognize your plainclothes officers? I’ve been watching the department for years. C’mon, detective, even you have got to be smarter than that. Do you still not see the pattern? Understand why I’m doing this? Has your thirst for control blinded you to what has always been before you? You don’t see it because all you think about is yourself. That’s why you’re going to be my last and final kill. In the meantime, maybe I’ll start picking off random strangers, making them look like robberies, killings of anger or accidents, or perhaps I’ll just go ahead and annihilate a school bus with a bomb. Can you guess who I am yet? The nursery rhyme tune “Wheels on the Bus” started playing but after five seconds the sound of a real-life explosion echoed. She closed the card but the tune wouldn’t stop repeating.
“Turn that damn thing off,” Dickson shouted.
“I’m trying, it won’t.”
“Hudson,” Dickson yelled getting even more frustrated.
“It won’t shut off.”
Romero ripped the entire thing out of her hands and tossed it on the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. He kept stamping it over and over until it eventually stopped playing.
“Great, now whatever DNA we might have been able to get off that is going to be mixed with whatever shit was on the end of your boot,” Dickson said, shaking his head. “Just get out. Go find this lunatic and fast.”
They stumbled out into the sound of phones ringing off the hook, and several officers telling them that they had received fourteen calls from people claiming they knew who the Zodiac was, and residents around the city were reporting strange noises coming from their neighbors’ apartments. “What do you want us to do?”
Hudson stood for a moment trying to find her center amid the chaos swirling around her. Officers rushed by, keyboards clicked, and the drone of the card still echoed in her mind.
The investigation was spiraling out of control and she need to reel it in by doing the one thing she didn’t want to do, but she was running out of options.
“Hudson?”
She turned to the officer.
“Get more details then follow up.”
She turned back to her partner.
“Romero, get hold of Ms. Grant and find me Jack Winchester.”
“Why?”
>
“Just do it.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Arrange a press briefing and throw a bone out and see if our dog bites.”
She pressed on leaving him standing there.
* * *
He couldn’t believe the nerve of that bitch. Did she honestly think she could outwit him? He hadn’t made it this far to be outdone by the San Francisco Police Department. He stood in the darkroom hanging up the photos of the recent stabbing. He ran his fingers over the faces of the dead and relived each moment again in his mind. Killing in the day brought a new sense of power. Up to that point those he’d attacked had been under the cover of night but there was something very liberating in strolling up to his last two victims and knowing that anyone could have heard him. In fact one woman had come close to spotting him as he dragged the guy’s body into the cluster of trees except she changed direction and took a different path on her bicycle.
After killing them he had every intention of waiting another twenty-four hours until he made his next kill but not now. No, she had pushed him into a corner and upset what should have been perfect. He still had two more attacks left to complete what the original Zodiac had done, but they were going to have to wait. Detective Hudson needed to remember who was in control. That there were consequences for tossing a stone in his path. He now had to rethink, recalculate and reorganize and that meant a delay, it meant the possibility of mistakes and he couldn’t afford that. He was so close. So close to completing what he’d set out to do.
Chapter 19
Steven Farrell lived in the Portola district of San Francisco. Tucked away in the southeastern corner of the city, between Bernal Heights and Bayview, it was like many of the city’s neighborhoods — a small town unto itself with a main street lined with shops, restaurants and banks. There was even a firehouse, a library, bars, a church and a couple of coffeehouses.