Look the Other Way

by Leigh Jones

  The girl gaped at Kate. The sight of her jolted Kate into action. She began to claw frantically at the man’s arm. He yelled and slapped her across the face with his free hand. The force of the blow knocked Kate sideways, and threw him off balance. He loosened his grip just enough for Kate to wrench herself free. She shoved him in the chest as hard as she could and he stumbled back into the coffee table. He wobbled a few times before crashing across it and falling on his back between the table and the couch.

  Kate seized the girl by the elbow and dragged her to her feet.

  “Run!” she screamed as she pushed her toward the door.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Johnson swore loudly and pounded the steering wheel. Kate! How had she known to come here? And more importantly, what was she doing there?

  Driving up the driveway alone violated every bit of training Johnson had ever received. He would have no idea what he was getting himself into until it was too late. But if Kate was at that house, she was definitely in danger. Fear coiled tightly in his chest. He had to find out what was going on behind those bushes.

  He reached for his radio. He wouldn’t wait for backup, but he at least wanted to make sure they were on the way.

  As he pushed the button on the side of the unit to call dispatch, a loud pop shattered the silence. Crows, startled by the noise, rose screeching from the trees in front of the house. Johnson jumped and fumbled the handset, dropping it between the seat and the center console. He swore and plunged his hand in after it. Just as his fingers closed around it, two more pops rang out.

  “Dispatch, this is 58. I have shots fired on Sportsman Road. I repeat, shots fired. Request backup. Over.”

  Chapter 32

  Before dispatch could respond, Johnson heard the rumble of a big engine and the squeal of gravel under spinning tires. A few seconds later, an olive green Ford Expedition careened around the bend in the driveway. It sped toward the police cruiser parked in its path. Johnson yanked the gear lever into reverse and mashed the gas pedal to the floor. The car jumped backward just in time to avoid getting broadsided. The SUV fishtailed as its tires bit the pavement, spraying gravel in its wake. As it sped past Johnson, the driver glanced his way. He had just enough time to take in angry eyes and a snarling mouth. But he didn’t recognize the man’s face.

  Johnson hesitated for only a split second before throwing the car into drive. His heart screamed for Kate, but his tactical training overrode every emotion. Help would be there within minutes. He had to make sure the man did not get away. He threw the car into a sharp U-turn and rocketed forward. But the SUV had a good head start, and by the time he reached 8 Mile Road it had already disappeared.

  “Dispatch, this is 58. I’ve got a man fleeing the scene in a green SUV. I’m in pursuit.”

  “Ten-four. Do you still need units at your location?”

  “Yes! Tell them to proceed with caution but look for possible victims.” Johnson’s voice caught on the word. “I think there was a reporter from The Gazette there.”

  Johnson gunned the engine as he whipped around a corner. The cruiser’s back end swung wide. He clung to the wheel to keep the car from spinning out of control. He looked up just in time to see the SUV turn left. Johnson flipped on his lights and siren.

  “Dispatch, this is 58. Suspect is heading east on Stewart Road at high speed. Notify all units in the area to be on the lookout.”

  It had been a long time since Johnson had been on a high-speed chase. With white knuckles, he gripped the steering wheel. His eyes darted left and right as he watched for other cars. Despite the cool air rushing through the windows, beads of sweat dotted his forehead. The suspect showed no signs of slowing down, let alone stopping. In this sparsely populated area, he didn’t have anyone in his way. But in just a few miles, he would hit late afternoon traffic. He prayed everyone would stay out of the SUV’s way.

  Through Stewart Road’s two 90-degree turns, Johnson gained on the suspect. As they neared the airport, other cars on the road slowed their progress. The SUV swerved in and out of traffic. It barreled through the intersection at 77th Street. Horns blared and other cars screeched to a halt to avoid getting hit. Johnson slapped his hand against the dashboard and waved people out of his way as he slowed to weave through the stopped cars. His frustration exploded into a guttural yell. The SUV pulled further ahead.

  “Dispatch, this is 58. Suspect is approaching 61st Street.”

  “Ten-four, 58. I have two units headed your way.”

  The SUV had reached a school zone. The driver slammed on his breaks to avoid hitting the end of the line of cars waiting for classrooms to disgorge their occupants. Johnson cringed as the suspect pulled into oncoming traffic and gunned his engine. Their frantic pace had slowed and Johnson got close enough to read the SUV’s license plate before it rocketed ahead again.

  “Dispatch, I have a plate number for you: 50T Y2N.”

  The SUV rounded the corner in front of another school and had a clear lane to 61st Street. If the driver intended to keep running, he was probably headed for the freeway. Johnson spotted flashing lights ahead. The two units dispatch had called to his aid were parked in the intersection at 61st. The SUV slowed briefly, but just as Johnson thought it might stop, the driver veered to the left and disappeared down a side street.

  “Dammit!” Johnson yelled, pounding the steering wheel again. Unless the other officers also had a road block along the minor intersections on 61st, the SUV had an unobstructed patch to the interstate.

  Johnson raced down 62nd Street just in time to see the SUV turn right onto Avenue Q 1/2. At 61st Street, it fishtailed again as the driver sped through the sharp turn. He barely kept control of the boxy vehicle as it rocked from left to right. Before Johnson made the turn, the two other units flew past him, lights flashing.

  “Dispatch, this is fifty-eight. Suspect is on 61st Street, headed for the interstate. Better notify La Marque, Santa Fe, League City, and highway patrol.”

  “Ten-four. Units 96 and 31 are also in pursuit.”

  “I see them.”

  “The plates came back to a José Vargas. He has a Galveston address, but it’s not on Sportsman Road. Priors for drug possession and domestic violence.”

  “Ten-four. Thanks.”

  Johnson gritted his teeth. The SUV’s brake lights suddenly glowed red before it swerved under the interstate overpass and rocketed up the entrance ramp. With three police units in pursuit, sirens blaring, Johnson thought other drivers would make way. But no one seemed to notice the speeding SUV until it was right up on them. It weaved between cars, picking up speed anytime it found an open stretch of lane. Johnson’s speedometer pushed past 85 mph.

  Traffic cleared briefly after they crossed the causeway. But as they neared La Marque, cars and trucks started to fill all three lanes. The SUV slowed. Johnson tightened his grip on the steering wheel. They were gaining on him. Two 18-wheelers blocked their path. There was no way the SUV could squeeze by.

  But the driver tried.

  The big rig trailer shuddered as the SUV clipped its back left corner. Smoke poured off the tires as the truck driver stood on his breaks. But that didn’t stop the rig from swinging sideways. It caught the back of the SUV, pushing it toward the median wall in an out-of-control pirouette. Johnson’s tires screeched in protest as he swerved to avoid the disaster unfolding in front of him. The SUV spun once, twice, before its momentum flipped it over. It rolled into the wall, leaving a long black streak along the concrete. It briefly slid along the top of the barrier like a skateboarder riding a rail before crashing back to the asphalt and exploding in a bright orange burst.

  Johnson pulled into the emergency lane and jumped out of his car. Hot, angry fire had already engulfed the SUV. He coughed as the acrid black smoke rolled over his head, the stench of melting metal and rubber rushing down his throat. He couldn’t even see the driver through the haze of flame. Nausea rolled over him and he turned away, hand over his mouth.

  “Oh, man,�
� said one of the other officers as he walked over to Johnson. “That’s a helluva way to go. What was he running for?”

  “I don’t know … yet,” Johnson said, coughing again. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned back to the accident scene.

  The truck driver was climbing out of his cab. He’d managed to keep the rig upright, nothing short of a miracle. The other two Galveston police cars blocked any traffic that might try to get through. Cars had already started to stack up behind them, with drivers getting out and snapping photos with their cell phones. In the distance, sirens wailed and flashing lights signaled the arrival of state troopers and the La Marque Fire Department.

  “I radioed dispatch,” the third officer called to Johnson, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the roar of the flames. “They said you should call Lt. Jarrell on his cellphone. He’s out at the scene on Sportsman Road.”

  Johnson’s heart thundered in his ears. Kate. He sprinted back to his car. Snatched his phone from the center console, he punched in the lieutenant’s number.

  “You are not going to believe this,” Jarrell said as soon as he answered.

  “What did you find?”

  “Your reporter, for one. How the hell she got tangled up in all this I have no idea. And a young, Hispanic girl who looks a lot like the one who washed up on Channelview.”

  Johnson could hardly form the words. “Are they dead?”

  “No! They’re both alive. Frankly, it’s a miracle.”

  Relief buckled Johnson’s knees and he sat down hard in the driver’s seat. He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and squeezed, trying to stem the flood of emotion that tightened his chest and made it hard to breathe. Tears filled his eyes too quickly for him to fight back. They trickled down his cheeks.

  She was alive.

  “Hello? You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Johnson said, clearing his throat to mask the huskiness. “Sorry, it’s a little crazy out here. Has the girl said anything?”

  “Not much that’s intelligible. For one, she’s hysterical. And then, she doesn’t speak much English. Hopefully when she calms down we’ll be able to get more out of her.”

  “Are you taking her back to the station?”

  “No, to UTMB. She’s pretty beat up. It looks like she’s been tied up for a while too.”

  Johnson cringed. What had this poor girl suffered?

  “Is that how you found her?”

  “No, she and Bennett were hiding in the brush between the house and the road. The suspect evidently chased them out of the house shooting. Looks like he intended to burn the place down. We found a gas can just inside the door. No telling why he didn’t go back to finish the job. Dispatch said his escape attempt didn’t end well.”

  “Not exactly. At least not for him. Did the girl say anything else?”

  “Something about ‘mi hermana.’ That’s Spanish for sister, right?”

  “Yeah.” Johnson blew out a long breath. “I bet the dead girl is her sister.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. We called Jimenez to sit with her. She should be able to translate too, when the girl is ready. She’s going with her to the hospital.”

  “What about Bennett?”

  “She’s refusing medical attention.”

  “That sounds about right. Was she hurt?”

  “She said he grabbed her by the neck and slapped her, but that’s it. Seems mostly okay. We’re taking an unofficial statement now. She promised she’d come down to the station later to answer any more questions. She insists she has to go back to the newspaper office to write her story. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from her soon.”

  Johnson laughed. It bubbled up from deep in his chest. He felt almost delirious from the emotional swings of the last few hours.

  “Johnson? You okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day already.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be over any time soon. Pull yourself together.”

  “Yes, sir. There’s not much more I can do here. I’ll check in with the chief and head over to UTMB to see if I can talk to the girl.”

  “I’ll let you know if we find anything else interesting at the house.”

  “Thanks.”

  After he hung up, Johnson surveyed the scene around him. The firefighters had the flaming SUV reduced to a smoldering, twisted ball of metal. Two state troopers and three La Marque police officers were directing traffic around the scene on the shoulder. The other two Galveston police officers were standing by their cars, looking useless. He strode across the empty lanes to have a word with the trooper in charge. He was only too happy to have the extra officers head back to the island. They would all have to fill out incident reports, but that could wait until tomorrow. Johnson waved his colleagues into their cars and the trio inched into traffic and headed for the next exit.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Kate stomped her foot with impatience as the officer assigned to take her statement asked her question after question. When he started asking the same questions, prefaced with “Now let me just see if I have this right,” she couldn’t contain her frustration.

  “If you didn’t get it right the first time, why would I bother repeating myself?”

  The officer raised an eyebrow at her and glanced at Lt. Jarrell.

  “Look, lieutenant, I’ve told him everything I know,” Kate said, throwing her hands up in the air. “The Houston TV stations are going to be all over the island in less than an hour! I need to get back to the newspaper to write my story.”

  The girl she’d helped rescue had headed off in an ambulance about 10 minutes before. She’d broken down in hysterical sobs as soon as her captor drove away. Kate had used her car keys to tear through the duct tape binding the girl’s wrists. She’d been about to go look for her cellphone when the first police car arrived. It had been complete chaos after that. Paramedics arrived a few minutes later, and Kate hadn’t had a chance to see the girl again. Would she ever learn the full extent of what she’d suffered?

  Kate looked pleadingly at Jarrell, who looked back through narrowed eyes.

  “Alright. But expect a follow-up call. I’m sure Detective Johnson’s going to want to talk to you.”

  Johnson. Kate suddenly realized he should have been there.

  “Where is he anyway?”

  “You just missed him, or he missed you,” Jarrell laughed. “He got here not long after you did and saw your car. He was radioing for backup when he heard the gunshots. After the guy took off, Johnson followed him.”

  Kate’s eyes felt like they were going to bug out of her head.

  “Did he catch him?”

  “Sort of. Guy crashed on his way up 45. He’s a pile of ashes now.”

  Kate’s head spun. Relief twirled with horror and disappointment. He would never have to face his accusers or spend years in a tiny jail cell thinking about what he’d done. Still, he’d paid with his life. Maybe that was enough.

  “Go write your story,” Jarrell said. “And try not to make this a habit, okay?”

  Kate just smiled and shook her head.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Johnson headed straight for the chief’s office when he got back to the station. But one of the secretaries stopped him before he made it halfway down the hall.

  “You’ve got someone waiting for you in the conference room,” she said.

  “Who is it?” he asked, exasperation giving his voice an unusual edge. “I’ve got my hands full at the moment, and I need to talk to the chief before I head over to UTMB.”

  “Well, I think you’ll want to make time for this one. She says she has information on one of the summer murders. Her name’s Muriel Costa. Wasn’t she the one whose husband was killed in June?”

  Johnson stopped and stared with wide eyes and a gaping mouth at the secretary, who kept walking.

  “Told you it would be worth your time. I’ll let the chief know where you are.”

  Johnson nodd
ed absently. His mind raced over the possibilities. He held out hope for a long time after the Costa murder that the widow would come clean with what she knew. He never believed she was as clueless as she pretended to be about what had happened to her husband. But it had been months. What prompted her to come forward now?

  Slightly dazed, Johnson walked toward the conference room. For half a year, he’d foundered in darkness, praying for some sliver of light in his stalled investigations. Now rays of revelation streamed so brightly they nearly blinded him.

  When he pushed open the door, Muriel started, as though from a deep reverie. She looked smaller than he’d remembered, more fragile. But at the same time, the deep furrows around her eyes spoke a new determination and strength. He searched her face for some clue about what she was about to say, focusing so hard he didn’t notice the priest until he was standing right next to him.

  “Detective, it’s good to see you,” Father Tomás said, holding out his hand. “We’ve been waiting a long time.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” Johnson smiled apologetically as he shook the priest’s hand. “We’ve got a rapidly changing situation we’re dealing with, and I had to go to the mainland unexpectedly.”

  He looked back down at Muriel. She was fixated on the rosary clutched tightly in her lap. A rush of excitement sent a chill down his back. Was he about to get the answers he’d prayed for daily since the summer?

  Father Tomás sat down next to Muriel. Johnson took a seat across the table.

  “We come to you today with information you should have had months ago,” the priest said. “But I hope, after you’ve heard the whole story, you’ll understand why Muriel stayed quiet for so long.”

  He looked at his parishioner with a mixture of sadness and pity.