by Bill Craig
Moseby and French stepped out of the car, both with hands on the butts of their guns. “This is the place,” Moseby said, unnecessarily.
“I figured that when you parked,” French said, quietly.
“Stay alert.”
“Always,” she replied. They could feel the hidden eyes on them as they entered the building and went up the stairs to the third floor. As they headed down the hallway, they could hear movement from behind the doors, wondering if one of them was going to swing open and somebody would open up on them with a shotgun or automatic weapon.
The door to room 317 was standing open and both of them drew their weapons, holding them in a two-handed grip as they moved through the corridor towards the door. Moseby was the first one through the door with Lucy right behind him.
“Thanks for joining me,” Casey told them from a seat on the couch.
“What have you got?” Moseby asked, taking the lead.
“So far, another dead end. My informant gave this guy up as being involved in the cop killings, but he was already dead when I got here,” Casey explained.
“Killed so he couldn’t talk,” Moseby said.
“That was my impression. too,” Casey nodded.
“How much of a shakedown have you given the place?” Lucy asked.
“I haven’t yet. I was waiting on you two. I figured that you guys might see something that I would miss,” Casey shrugged.
“Good thinking. Lucy, go check the bedroom and see what you can find.”
“Roger that,” Lucy said, heading deeper into the apartment.
“Talk to me, Casey. Tell me what you are holding back,” Moseby looked at the FBI Agent.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this,” Casey admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“Same thing happened in Ferguson, Missouri. White cop shot a black kid, riots that followed, martial law declared. And somebody hit the biggest bank in town during the riots. Alarms were ignored due to the looting and rioting. The team that pulled it got away with more than two million bucks,” Casey explained.
“Why didn’t we hear about this?” Moseby asked her.
“The FBI kept it quiet. We were waiting for these bastards to hit again,” Rawlings told him.
“You should have told us.”
“Based on what? A hunch?”
“You still should have told us.”
“I know that now,” Rawlings admitted.
“You should have told us from the beginning.”
“You’re right. But I didn’t. However, I am telling you now.”
“That you are,” Moseby told her.
*****
Lucy French shifted through the debris of the dead man’s life. There was little to find. Except for the fact that he was an ex-Marine. She thought about that for a while. Carter Hill had been a Marine. Her Uncle had been a Marine. He had often told her that there was no such thing as an ex-Marine. If you joined the Corps, you were a Marine for life. She wondered if Carter Hill had felt that way. She also wondered if that was what had got him killed. It was something worth thinking about.
The Marine angle fit. She couldn’t imagine a Marine going along with killing cops. It was evident that the man had known his killer, because he had willingly let them inside his home. It was something to think about. She hoped that Moseby was working things out with Casey Rawlings.
Chapter Eight
“I found something,” Lucy called. Moseby and Rawlings walked over to her.
“What have you got?” Moseby asked.
“An envelope full of cash along with an unsigned letter asking Hill to help start a riot,” French replied.
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“Why not?” Rawlings asked.
“Carter Hill was a Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine. He wouldn’t have done what the letter asked,” Moseby said, firmly.
“You’re right. I think that’s what got him killed,” Lucy said
‘How do you figure that?” Casey asked, clearly puzzled.
“You didn’t grow up in a military family, did you?” Lucy asked.
“No, I didn’t. What has that got to do with it?”
“Marines are some of the most dedicated fighting men in the world. True Patriots. I think Mr. Hill here got killed because he turned the job down.”
“Because the person doing the hiring didn’t want to leave a witness behind,” Casey said, following the line of thought to its logical conclusion. “Well, shit!”
“That sums it up rather nicely,” Moseby added.
“So, where do we go from here?” Rawlings asked.
“Hill’s name is scrawled on the front of the envelope, and there are no stamps on it. I think it was given to him by somebody that he knew. Why else would he let them get close enough to kill him,” Lucy looked at her.
“That sounds right. When we get back to the station, I’ll start running his known associates. That might get us somewhere. Right now, we’ve no traction on this case.”
“Take Casey with you, Garrett. I’ll call and get the meat wagon headed this way as well as the Crime Scene Unit.”
“We’ll take my car,” Casey said. Moseby handed Lucy the keys to their unmarked so she could make it back on her own. Then he followed Rawlings out the door. Lucy smiled as she watched the pair go.
*****
“Do I scare you, Detective Moseby?” Casey asked, as they started back to the station.
“Why would you think that?” Moseby shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat.
“For one thing, you won’t look me in the eye.”
“You’re short and I’m tall,” Moseby replied, grasping at figurative straws.
“Bullshit, Detective Garrett! I think you like me, but you are too afraid to admit it,” Rawlings told him with a laugh. Moseby’s face flushed red.
“Uh, no, that’s not it,” he stammered.
“Liar! But it’s okay, Moseby. I like you too. I keep hoping that you’ll ask me out on a date,” Rawlings told him.
“You’re pretty forward, aren’t you?”
“Forward? I prefer direct. I’m a modern woman and when I see something I like, I go after it.”
“You make me sound like a steak or something,” Moseby shook his head.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I know you older guys can be shy around a woman that knows what she wants.”
“Older? Who are you calling older?” Moseby was stunned.
“You. You’ve got to be what, forty-five or so?”
“About that.”
“And I’m twenty-seven. It’s not that big of difference.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Moseby admitted.
“That’s pretty obvious, big guy. How about saying yes?” Casey looked at him.
“I guess I walked into that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” Casey laughed. Moseby decided he liked the sound of her laughter.
“Let’s solve this case first, and then I’ll take you to dinner,” Moseby told her, hiding a smile of his own.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Casey told him.
*****
Lucy was still searching the apartment when the CSU’s arrived. Carter Hill had lived a pretty simple life from what she had found. She found pay stubs from a security company in town. His food choices were fairly bland, not much better than military MRE’s. French had done a stint in the Army Military Police before becoming a cop. It was a puzzle for sure.
Lucy sat down on a chair by the kitchen to think about it as the CSU’s did their work. Their killer was connected to Hill. Which meant that they were ex-military, at the least. That connected them to the cop killings, also. Something nagged at her beyond the edges of her memory, but she just couldn’t dredge it up. It frustrated her. The medical examiner arrived and came in to look at the body.
“Time of death, Doc?” Lucy asked.
“About three hours ago, based on liver temp,” the ME repli
ed.
“Okay, I’m heading back to the station. Call me when you schedule the cut on this one.”
“I can do that,” the medical examiner replied.
Lucy French went downstairs to the car. She was very aware of the hostile looks from behind shades and blinds over the windows. It was a bad time to be a cop in Tampa.
The problem was, it was all a show, a put on to cover up some sort of robbery and the people doing the robber’s job of distracting the police didn’t have a clue as to why they were doing it. Heaving a sigh, she climbed into the car and started it up, heading back to headquarters.
Lucy was tired, and she needed some sleep. It had been a really long day after an incredibly long night. It was no surprise that she didn’t notice the car that had pulled out behind her and was following her. Cops are notorious for not noticing when they are being followed because it isn’t something that happens often. So, when it rolled up beside her, she wasn’t paying attention until the glass of the driver’s side window shattered, spraying her with shards.
Lucy reacted instantly, shutting her eyes against the flying glass and jamming her foot down on the break as the other car sped past. She threw herself down as much as the seatbelt would allow before the windshield exploded inward. By this time, she had her Glock in hand and had unfastened her seatbelt. She edged the muzzle of her pistol over the dash and returned fire.
She shoved the door open and rolled out into the street, her gun leading the way. Bullets struck the open door and she ran in a crouch to put the car between her and the shooters. There were two men, one white, one black. Lucy aimed her gun and fired three fast rounds. At least one of her shots was lucky and the white guy spun and tumbled to the ground. The black one returned fire, forcing her to duck as the rear windshield shattered. Lucy popped up and emptied her magazine at the remaining shooter who quickly scrambled back into his car and drove off on smoking tires. Wearily, Lucy stood and walked back to the front of the car. She reached in and grabbed the dash mike and called it in.
*****
Garrett Moseby was at his desk when the call came from dispatch about Lucy French being attacked. Moseby was on his feet in a heartbeat heading for the door with Casey Rawlings right behind him. The reached her car and Moseby took the wheel this time, tearing out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. Given the lateness of the hour, they reached her in fifteen minutes, arriving at the same time as an ambulance. Moseby left the driver’s door open as he vacated the federal ride and ran to his partner. “Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Yeah, but it was close,” Lucy admitted. Her face was bleeding from numerous cuts from where the glass had hit her. One of the EMT’s came and led Lucy to the ambulance so they could clean her up an attend to the wounds.
“I should have been with her,” Moseby said, softly.
“You can’t blame yourself for this, Garrett,” Casey told him.
“Yes, I can. I should have had my partner’s back instead of playing footsie with you, Agent Rawlings,” Moseby shook his head.
“Garrett . . .” Casey started.
“No, Agent Rawlings. I should have been with my partner. I let myself get distracted, and she paid the price. I can’t allow myself to be distracted anymore,” Moseby said. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with her mouth hanging open.
*****
“You were hard on her,” Lucy observed, when Moseby reached her.
“I should have been with you. Casey is a distraction that I can’t afford right now.”
“Garret, you had no way of knowing that these people would target me.”
“I should have anticipated that. We are, after all, the face of this investigation.”
“We are. I knew that as well as you. I didn’t expect to become a target, but I should have anticipated it. They caught me by surprise because I was tired. This city is under siege, Garrett. We cannot afford to alienate the FBI if they are willing to help us.”
“If I work with her, it has to be on a strictly professional relationship, Luce. I can’t afford any more than that.”
“I get that. But don’t shut her out entirely. She likes you, and I think that she might be good for you,” Lucy told him.
“We’ll see about that,” Moseby replied.
*****
Cristo looked at Deshawn Nickels. His facial expression conveyed that he wasn’t especially pleased with his subordinate. “You lost her,” it wasn’t a question.
“We thought we had her unawares. We didn’t expect her to shoot back,” Deshawn said.
“She’s a cop. It should have been a given that she would be ready to fight.”
“We didn’t account for that, Cristo.”
“I see that. Now, we are a man short for the job.”
“We can find a replacement, not that big a deal,” Deshawn said, dismissively.
“Is that what you think? Cristo asked, softly.
“It is. Replacements are a dime a dozen. There are any number of Vets we can find to replace him.”
“That is where you are wrong, Deshawn. I only work with men that I trust.” Cristo said, softly.
“That ain’t no way to be, Cristo,” Deshawn said, as he slowly shifted his stance.
“No, it isn’t,” Cristo replied, as he drew his gun and put a bullet in Deshawn’s brain. The dead man crumbled at his feet. “Now, we are two men down. But you were right about one thing. It will be easy to find replacements.”
*****
Garrett Moseby drove Lucy French home in a department car. Their radio car was out of service, but they got one from the city garage. He helped her to her apartment and then crashed on her couch once he had her tucked into bed. Moseby loved his partner. But it was not something that he would ever admit. Sure, he had been attracted to Casey Rawlings, but he loved Lucy French with all of his heart, despite the ten-year difference in their ages.
It was not something that he would ever admit to, but it was there, unspoken between them. The men that had hurt her? They were going to pay, and in the worst way possible. He had promised her that before she had ever regained consciousness in the recovery room. Most of the other cops knew it, and they respected him enough to stay out of his way.
*****
Casey Rawlings was stunned. The change in Moseby was like somebody had flipped a switch. He had turned from the shy man into a hard ass bastard in nothing flat, once that he knew his partner had been injured.
She had never seen anything like it. She shook her head. It was time for her to get back to being professional instead of a hormone filled teeny-bopper. She had come here to do a job, and she was damn well going to do it.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, you want some coffee” Lucy called from the kitchen. Moseby snapped wide awake, his Glock in his hand. Then he heard Lucy moving around in the kitchen and stood up.
“Yeah, I can use some,” Moseby called, as he walked to the bathroom. He took care of business and splashed water on his face before walking back to the kitchen. Lucy had showered and gotten dressed without waking him. She handed him a cup of coffee as he entered the kitchen. Moseby carried it to a chair and sat down, taking a sip as he did so.
“Thanks for staying over last night, Gar. It meant a lot and made me feel safe just knowing you were here.”
“Least I could do, kid. I should have stayed with you and let Rawlings go back by herself.”
“Don’t do that to yourself. It was my decision as much as it was yours.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“You can, because it is the truth,” Lucy told him. A fresh white bandage covered the side of her face where it had been cut by flying glass.
“I’m sorry about that, Lucy,” Moseby said, looking at the bandage.
“Why? Just a few scratches. If it scars, I have a story to tell my grandkids,” Lucy shrugged. “You about ready to go to work? We still have killers to catch.” Moseby smiled, despite himself.
“How m
uch do you remember about the attack?”
“The car was a light-colored Chevy Lumia. I got a good look at it. There was a white gun shooting and a black guy driving. I took out the shooter, but the driver got away. I’m pretty sure that they followed me from Carter Hill’s place.”
“In order to do that, they would have had to have known Hill and that we were looking into him. How would they know that?” Moseby mused.
“That’s a very good question. Unless they offed Hill and waited around to see who might come around to check on him,” Lucy said.
“I think that is a pretty damn good theory.”
“It, also, means something else.”
“What?”
“It means Casey is in danger as well. Let’s get going,” Lucy said, heading for the door. Moseby was right behind her.
*****
Casey Rawlings exited her motel room and headed for the stairs. She was almost to them when she spotted the door swinging open down in the parking lot and saw a man with an assault rifle step out. She drew her weapon and swung it at the man as he squeezed the trigger. Rawlings got off one shot before diving for covers as bullets punched into the wall where she had been standing a moment before. She crawled to the head of the stairs and fired three times blasting a hole in the windshield as the van backed up, tires smoking before turning and shooting out into the street and careening away. Casey pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1. She reported the shooting as she climbed to her feet. While she was waiting for the cops, she called the Tampa Field Office and requested more help on the task force.
*****
Moseby and French arrived at the motel right behind the uniforms. French was the first one up the stairs to talk to Rawlings. Moseby followed, feeling slightly ashamed of the way he had treated the FBI Agent the night before after finding out that French had been attacked. There had been something going on between them and he had shut it down and shut it down harshly. Rawlings hadn’t deserved that.