by Leah Burke
“So, tell me everything,” he said once they’d settled across the metal table from one another.
“Well, I was on the phone with Brand Williams, my copy editor at The World at Large,” Marissa began, “He’d been looking into a couple of names I’d given him—“ she trailed off when Ranger held up a hand.
“Miss Larkin, I need you to tell me everything. This isn’t the time for journalistic shyness. What names?”
She scowled at him. “Is that important right now?”
He nodded, unperturbed. “Could be.”
“Fine,” she huffed, “Ryan Chase and Thomas Duvall.”
He smiled at her thinly. “I suspected as much. Your editor tell you anything?”
“Only that Ryan was involved with a gang called the Southside Riders,” she responded crossly.
“That’s true.” He hesitated a moment, then seemed to come to a decision and forged ahead. “Kid’s also the one who made the call to Siena Marlow.”
“I know. Ming told me,” Marissa admitted.
“We’re pretty sure it wasn’t by choice. There was a voice in the background, coaching him.”
“How do you know that?” Marissa tilted her head and regarded him curiously.
“At one point, Ryan put his hand over the phone to talk to the other guy, but our techs were able to enhance the audio and make out what they were saying. He called the guy ‘Tyrone’. I did a little digging and Tyrone Brown is the leader of the Southside Riders.
“And the landscaper for the Marlows?” Marissa asked.
Ranger nodded. “I’m willing to bet a year’s salary it’s the same Tyrone.”
“Interesting. Would it be possible for me to hear the tape?”
“Depends. Tell me about the rest of the call you got.”
Marissa told him.
“Well,” Ranger sighed. “Looks like you’re involved now whether you want to be or not.”
“So, can I hear the tape? It could be the same guy who called me.” Marissa fought to hide her triumphant smile. This isn’t how she wanted to insinuate herself into the investigation, but she wasn’t about to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
“Wait here,” he said.
Ranger got up and left the room. He came back a few minutes later carrying a clunky dinosaur of a tape player. Plunking it down on the table between them, he took his seat and hit the Play button.
“...$2,000,000 by Friday—“ a brief pause, as if the speaker was listening to someone, then he continued uncertainly. “This Friday, bring $2,000,000 in cash to the 19th street Bridge. Leave it under the—“
Another male voice interrupted and there was a scratching sound as the caller covered the mouthpiece.
“Okay, okay, Tyrone! You told me already!”
“Then stop stallin’! You sound like those whiny little brats in the other room!”
“Stop,” Marissa said and Ranger pressed the Pause button.
“We know the main speaker is Ryan Chase,” he told her, “Is he the one that called you?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “But the one he called Tyrone...he did.”
Ranger raised his brows. “You sure?”
“Positive. You have to admit he’s got a pretty distinctive voice,” she pointed out.
And he did.
The voice that had issued from the recorder, her phone, and—it suddenly dawned on her—the parlor at the Marlows belonged to the same man. It was a distinctive basso rumble, like boulders grinding together in a landslide, and he had a lazy, insolent manner of speaking. It was a voice Marissa wouldn’t soon forget.
“We put a BOLO out for Tyrone Brown. When he get him in, would you be willing to do a voice line-up?” Ranger asked.
Marissa nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s nail this jerk to the wall.”
“Whoa, slow down, little lady.” Ranger held up his hands. “This isn’t the O.K. Corral. We can’t just go in, guns blazing.”
“That’s a little ironic, coming from a cop named Ranger Lawson who looks like Doc Holliday,” Marissa teased.
Ranger snorted out a laugh. “Maybe so, but we’ve got to play this right. Too many thugs get off on technicalities these days for us to rush in without having our ducks in a row. He’s got a handful of warrants anyway, so we’ll let the Gang Unit pick him up on those first.”
“All right,” Marissa sighed, “Do you have any idea how long it’ll take them to find him?”
Ranger shrugged. “Not long. The Southside Riders’ territory is pretty small, so there’s only so many places he could be. Don’t worry, Miss Larkin, we’ll get him.”
As if his promise were a cue, there was a knock on the door and a young officer stuck his head in the room.
“Hey, Lawson? Gangs just brought in that guy you’ve been looking for.”
Chapter 16
“Excellent!” Ranger crowed, banging a fist on the table.
“Wow,” Marissa said, “That didn’t take long.”
“Those guys are some of the best.” He gave her an appraising look. “You said you wanted to nail him. Let’s get after it.”
She nodded. “You bet. Lead the way.”
They were in the hall when they heard the sounds of a scuffle coming from around the corner. Men’s voices shouted and someone was swearing loudly. Ranger stepped protectively in front of Marissa as four officers rounded the corner.
They were struggling with a large, dark-skinned man in handcuffs and he was resisting them at every step. His head snapped up when he realized there were other people in the hall and his angry gaze found Marissa peeking around Detective Lawson’s shoulder. Recognition dawned for both of them in almost the same instant.
“Tyrone Brown growled, lunging towards Marissa in spite of his restraints and the numerous officers between them.
“Get him out of here!” Ranger snapped, dropping a hand to his holstered weapon.
More officers raced into sight and joined those already present. Tyrone Brown kept his eyes on Marissa until he was ordered to face forward and walk. Even then, he turned his head so he could watch her until the corner cut off his line of sight.
“Idiot,” Ranger muttered, “Guy’s just rackin' up the charges.” He turned his attention to Marissa. “You okay?”
Marissa took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. “Yeah, let’s get this done.”
They entered a dim room with a one-way mirror taking up the top half of an entire wall. A female cop and a sour-faced man were waiting for them and the latter scowled at Marissa when she entered.
“Is this your...witness?” he asked with an air of bored contempt.
“If you mean the woman your client called and threatened over the phone,” Ranger answered coolly, “then yeah.”
The man—Tyrone’s lawyer, she assumed—waved an impatient hand. “That’s pure speculation.”
“We’ll see. Laney?”
The female cop nodded, pressed a button, and spoke into a crackling intercom, “Send ‘em in, Johnny.”
Six men, all similar in build, skin color, and dress, filed into the room beyond the window and turned so their backs were to the wall.
“When you hear your number, please step forward and read your line,” Officer Laney instructed, “No shenanigans, boys.”
One by one, men one through four were called and they each stepped up to repeat one of the lines from the call Marissa had received.
As soon as Number Five began to speak, Marissa held up her hand.
“That’s him,” she told the detective beside her.
“Are you certain?” he asked, “You need to be certain.”
“I’m absolutely positive. Distinctive voice, remember?”
“She hasn’t heard Number Six yet,” the grouchy lawyer protested, “You know she has to listen to them all.”
“Fine, but I’d swear under oath that Number Five is the jerk that threatened me!” Marissa snapped, spinning to face him. She felt Detective Lawson’s hand settle on her
shoulder in warning.
Ignoring the argument, Officer Laney summoned Number Six and Marissa pretended to listen, even though she didn’t need to. Afterwards, five of the six men were dismissed and Number Five was led away to an interrogation room.
“I’ll get this ‘identification’ thrown out so fast it’ll make your head spin,” the lawyer snapped, “Eye witnesses, or ear witnesses in this case, are notoriously unreliable. This won’t stand up in court.”
Ranger shrugged. “Either way, we’re holding your client for the next 24 hours.”
“He’ll get bail,” the lawyer countered, “and we’ll post it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a word with my client.”
With that, he turned and stalked from the room.
“Well, isn’t he just a peach?” Marissa asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Typical gang lawyer,” Laney said, “They all bluster, just like their scumbag clients. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. Detective Lawson here knows what he’s doing. He’ll get the creep to confess. Let’s see his lawyer get him out of that.”
“Easy,” Ranger warned, “You know as well as I do how these things go sometimes. Miss Larkin, do you have time to give me the rundown on your meeting with Ming Robertson?”
“I’ve got something even better than that,” Marissa winked. “I’ve got audio!”
“Well, doesn’t that just beat all?” Ranger asked after listening twice to the phone-recorded conversation between Siena Marlow and Tyrone Brown. “She’s banging her gardener and talking about collecting life insurance money on her own kids. Isn’t that the plot to one of them movies on the Hallmark or Lifetime Channel?”
Chapter 17
When she’d awakened the next morning—she’d been up late writing and it had almost been lunchtime when her eyes opened—Marissa decided to take a walk along the beach and just breathe some fresh air for a change. She’d bought an amazing sandwich and fizzy diet soda from a vendor on the boardwalk and then spent an hour strolling along the water’s edge. The breeze was warm and carried the smell of salt, and the ceaseless roar of the waves was soothing. She took the opportunity to think of anything but the Marlow case; she needed to let her brain reboot on that one.
Once I get back to the hotel, I’ll take a long, hot shower, call Brand, check in with Harlan, and start writing up my notes, she thought with a relaxed smile.
That smile quickly faded when her phone started ringing and it was replaced by a frown when she answered it to find a tense Detective Lawson on the line.
“You should know that Tyrone Brown is out on bail,” he told her somberly. “His lawyer got him out first thing this morning. I called you as soon as I found out.”
Marissa felt her heart sink and the words of Tyron’s threatening phone call played through her head.
“...it’s gonna end bad for you if you keep messin’ with this. First and final warning.”
She heaved a tired sigh. “Thanks for the call.”
“Of course. You know, at least until we can get eyes on him again, I’d feel better if you stayed in your hotel room with the door locked or even better, someplace public. Tyrone’s just a two-bit thug and probably too much a coward to carry through on his threat, but even so...”
“I’m just pulling into the parking lot now. I’ve got a lot of writing to keep me occupied for the moment, so I’ll stay in if you really think it’s necessary,” she agreed.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was,” he reassured her. “But don’t worry, we should have eyes on him soon enough. You won’t be cooped up for long.”
Her phone beeped and she told Detective Lawson she had to go.
“Marissa Larkin,” she greeted, trying to force a note of cheer into her voice.
“Miss Larkin, this is Sergeant Preston from the Marine Corps recruitment office you visited the other day.”
“Oh yes,” she said with a smile, “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”
“Well, it’s more what I can do for you,” he corrected, “Right after you left, I called a friend stationed in the department that organized the annual USMC Birthday Ball. He put me in touch with the photographer who’d worked the event that year.”
“That’s fabulous!” she exclaimed, “Was he able to help?”
“She, actually. I faxed her your picture,” Sergeant Preston said, “and she called me back about fifteen minutes ago. The Lance Corporal in your picture is Christopher Murphy, now a Staff Sergeant in the 2nd Marine Logistics Group stationed in Germany.”
Germany. So that eliminated the twins’ father as a suspect without a doubt. That was progress, at least, and she added it to the list of things to tell the detective the next time they met.
“Thank you, Sergeant Preston. You have no idea how helpful that information is.”
“Glad to help. And good luck with your work, ma’am.”
She hung up and made her way into the hotel. Her happy mood from the beach had turned foul. She hated forced idleness, however short it was. She was a woman of action and she needed to be doing something! Not sitting on her hands, waiting for someone else to take care of the problem!
“WATCH OUT!”
Marissa jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding the luggage trolley that flew past. She caught sight of a small boy hanging onto one of the poles for dear life as the thing sped down the hallway. An older boy—probably a brother—ran past her a split-second later, though she couldn’t be sure if he was trying to save the kid on the trolley or if he was responsible for it flying down the hall. She more than half suspected it was the second, because, even though she’d been an only child, she had enough cousins to understand the dynamics that existed between siblings.
“You two stop!” ordered an elderly Hispanic woman as she stormed after the two boys, shaking a finger in their direction.
With a shake of her head, Marissa pushed the button for the elevator and rode it to the second floor. As she walked towards her room, she started digging her key card out of her pocket. When she looked up again, she froze.
She stared at her hotel room door. She was positive she’d shut it on her way out—and didn’t those things have pneumatic hinges that made them close on their own? But it now stood open a few inches. The room beyond was ominously silent.
She should go back down to the lobby, report a break-in, and wait for the police to arrive, and yet she hesitated. Entering the room would be insanely stupid, she knew that, but the curious journalist in her wouldn’t let her retreat. Her laptop, with all of her notes and photographs for this story and others, was in her room and she had to know if it was still there.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the room, eyes darting around to survey the damage. She saw nothing out of place and frowned in confusion. Why break in and not take anything?
“You just couldn’t mind your own business, could you?”
Marissa turned to find a man whom she’d most recently seen in a police lineup step out of the darkened bathroom. He wore baggy jeans, black sneakers, and a navy t-shirt. His shaved head gleamed in the light coming through the open curtains and his dark eyes watched her with thinly veiled contempt.
“I wondered if I’d run into you again sooner or later, Tyrone,” Marissa said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
He snorted. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t, lady.”
“And why’s that?” She folded her arms over her chest and stared him down.
He smiled, teeth blindingly white against his dark skin, but didn’t answer her question. “You and I gonna take a little ride.”
Before she could react, he reached out and grabbed her. His hand went all the way around her upper arm and he used it to yank her closer. He leaned down so his face was only a couple of inches from hers. His breath smelled strongly of mint.
“Scream and I’ll break your neck,” he threatened, putting his other hand around her throat and squeezing lightly to demonstrate his point. “You got it?”
Marissa swallowed hard and nodded.
Tyrone maintained the vice grip on her arm as he propelled her out the door and down the hall in the opposite direction of the elevators. They descended the stairs and spilled out into the alley behind the hotel where a black Escalade SUV was idling.
She knew that if he got her into the vehicle, it was entirely possible she’d never be seen alive again. Thinking quickly, she slipped a hand into her front right pocket and slid her thumb across the screen to bring up the camera.
“Smile, Tyrone,” Marissa said sweetly as she raised her phone and snapped a picture of his startled face.
The flash blinded him for only a moment, but it was enough for Marissa to jerk free of his grasp.
“You little witch!” he snarled, and lunged for her.
She dodged his first attempt to grab her, spinning on her heel and racing towards the end of the alley and the very public street beyond. His footsteps pounded behind her as he ran after her and she could hear his ragged breathing.
Just before she reached the safety of the alley’s mouth, something hit her in the back, hard, and she fell face-first onto the pavement. Her phone flew out of her hands, bouncing twice before coming to rest against a dumpster. Tyrone’s shoes passed her and he stomped on the little black box until it was smashed into a million pieces.
Then he turned back to Marissa.
She tried to crawl away from him, but he grabbed her ponytail and yanked her upright. Without releasing his grip on her hair, he started shoving her back the way they’d come. They stopped beside the Escalade and he threw open the back door on the driver’s side. Marissa struggled, but it was no use. Tyrone swore at her again and, using her hair as leverage, bashed her skull into the wall beside the SUV.
Pain exploded in her head and lights flashed before her eyes before everything went black.
Chapter 18
Marissa regained consciousness in stages. The first thing she became aware of was the muggy heat sticking her clothes to her body. Next came the sound of muffled voices. Both were male and they sounded angry, though she couldn’t make out their words through the miserable throbbing in her head.