by Hugh Macnab
‘Nah. You don’t get me, man.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I mean, I got a trade for you. You’re gonna’ want to take.’
‘I don’t think so, Chico. You’re not getting out of this one.’
‘But what if I can give you something you really want?’
‘You trying to bribe me?’
‘Nah. I’m offering to give you something. Something special.’
‘Cut the crap, Chico. You’ve nothing special I would want.’
‘How about I give you what you’re spending all your time looking for?’
‘Oh, you mean world peace?’
‘I always like that about you. You’re funny, man.’
‘It’s good to laugh. Don’t you know?’
‘Is it also good to catch serial killers?’
Now, this isn’t exactly where I think this conversation is going. I’m expecting some huge cash pay-off proposal. I could pay my papa back his four hundred and buy a Rolls Royce. Wouldn’t look at all obvious in the car park at the Sheriff’s office.
‘What are you talking about, Chico?’
‘I can give you the serial killer you’re looking for. You let me go.’
‘What makes you think I’m looking for a serial killer?’
‘Come on detective. I tol’ you about blue-cover before. I got inside folks who tell me things.’
‘And what are they telling you about my serial killer?’
‘It’s a girl, and she’s young.’
I catch the look of surprise on Kathy’s face and guess my expression will be the same. How the hell does he know this?
‘I know where she is, if you want her.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Cause, she’s planning to kill the last on her list real soon, and you won’t want that?’
‘List? What list?’
‘The list she drew up in detention school. The list of the eight men she’s killing for revenge.’
Kathy and I exchange another glance. We’re both thinking the same thing. There’s no way he can know all this information. We’ve only been learning it in the past couple of days. Yet, here he is. Spouting off the facts it has taken us so much time and effort to have discovered.
I’ve no choice other than to believe he at least knows about Charlie. But it’s a much bigger jump to believe he can tell me where she is. There again. If he knows this much, why would he not? I need more proof.
‘So, assuming we believe you. If you know so much, do you know her name?’
‘Sure, detective. But before I say’s anything else. If you take me in, I’ll refuse to talk and my attorney will have me out in no time. Your girl will be long gone by then. So, we need to have a deal right now. You cut me loose. I tell you her name and where you can find her. Deal or no deal?’
I can’t believe I’m even considering what this slime-ball is suggesting. Yet, I am. My mind is furiously weighing up the pros and cons.
His drug operation is a bust, so it’s not like he’s going to be up-and-running again anytime soon. Also, whoever is supplying him will want to be paid, and I suspect that’s going to be a problem for him after tonight’s raid. He might not even survive.
I also have to consider Jon Smith. His life is in the balance and although we’ve given him round-the-clock protection, this girl is a very accomplished killer and if I were him, I wouldn’t feel safe with an army around me.
How could I ever explain letting the head man in this drug bust go free to 007, or Jerry? Fuck.
I know that time is ticking. Eventually someone is going to come around the back of the compound and see us. I take one more look at Kathy, but can’t tell what she’s thinking. I need to decide.
‘Name first. If you’re right, we have a deal. You give me the location and we will leave you here. You can make your own way to town.’
‘Okay with me. Her name is Charline, but she calls herself Charlie. You believe me now, man?’
I give Kathy another glance. This time a shrug of her shoulders tells me she’s not there. That she’s at home in bed, and this whole thing is a figment of my imagination.
It’s my call.
I honestly think the next words come out of my mouth before I finish thinking of what to say.
‘Okay, Chico. We have a deal. But if this is a double-cross, I will hunt you down. You hear me?’
‘Sure, detective. But this is good info. You’ve already got her.’
‘What do you mean, we’ve already got her? Don’t fuck with me, Chico.’
‘I mean it, detective. You already got her. She’s in the hospital.’
‘What the fuck are you saying?’
‘She was in the Project when you rounded everyone up.’
I feel sick in the depths of my stomach. Sick that I’ve just made a deal with this slippery eel. That we already have Charlie and don’t know it. But most of all, that as the man responsible for Joey’s death walks away, I’m letting my cousin down. Not to mention my parents, who asked me to help him.
I nod to Kathy, who hauls Chico to his feet and shoves him towards town, then watches as first he stumbles, then breaks into a run.
‘What have I just done, Kathy?’
‘What you had to do. Nothing more. Let’s go pick up a serial killer.’
41
It only takes twenty minutes for us to pull to a halt right outside the main entrance to NCH and rush inside. It being the middle of the night, the Reception is unmanned, so I run straight to the security guard.
‘Where are the people from the Project being treated?’
The guard looks momentarily shocked by the question, but then I figure he’s likely been dozing with his eyes open when we walked in.
‘East wing,’ he tells me, pointing to my right.
I turn and head that way when he shouts after us.
‘But some of them just left.’
That stop us short. I turn back and ask what he means.
‘Some of them left with the GFT bus a couple of hours back.’
‘GFT?’
‘Yeah. The Growers’ Foundation Trust.’
‘Pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about and explain that to me.’
‘They’re a Charity that takes homeless people off the streets and gives them a roof over their heads and food in their bellies in exchange for crop-picking.’
‘So they heard about what went down at the Project and took the people from here to where?’
‘They only took some. There’s always some don’t want to go. And there’s a lot don’t stay when they get there. They don’t enjoy working for a living. Mostly they transport them up to farms in Polk County.’
‘So, there are still some here?’
‘Sure. Like I said. They’re in the east wing.’
Kathy asks a question I should have thought about.
‘Why are GFT picking up in the middle of the night?’
‘Have you seen how busy we are during the day? The place can get chaotic round here.’
‘So, nothing to do with homeless people not being seen by people paying for their treatment, then?’ she suggests.
‘Hey, I’m just a security guard. Politics are not my thing.’
Leaving him, we follow the signage for the east wing. This time, when we arrive, there’s an administrator at the reception desk. We show our badges and ask if she has a record of the people recently admitted from the raid on the Project.
She takes a few minutes rifling in a cabinet, but eventually produces what she has. Together, Kathy and I scan through the information. The names are in alphabetical order of surnames. We look for Ellis. Nothing. We check all the names for a Charlie, Charles or Charline. Still nothing. Then Kathy suggests we try the age column.
Got her.
There’s only one person vaguely close to their late teens. She had given her name as Jessie Wells. Charlie Ellis, Jessie Wells. Close enough. This is her, I’m sure of it. I
turn back to the administrator.
‘Can you tell us which people left on the GFT bus a couple of hours ago?’
This time the list we need is on the desk in front of her.
One bus. Thirty people, and Jessie Wells is one of them.
I throw the list down and start running with Kathy on my heels. I feel so close. So very close. Polk County is about two-and-a-half hours north. We need to shift.
Back in the car, I drive while Kathy calls the State Police. If we can get the bus stopped before it gets to its destination, we have her.
Once we make it across onto the interstate, it’s empty and with blue flashing lights I push up close to a hundred all the way. We’re only halfway there when Kathy gets a call back from the State Police. They’ve pulled over the bus and secured the occupants before it left the interstate just south of Tampa. The bus is being held forty miles north of our current location. I run the math just for fun. Twenty-four minutes and we’ll have her. I push the car above the hundred. Now we’re really shifting.
Just over twenty minutes later we fly over a rise in the road and can see two State patrol cars with their light-bars flashing beside a bus - all pulled over on the shoulder.
We screech to a halt, the tires throwing gravel in the air, and jump out. Identifying ourselves immediately, I ask who’s in charge? The two patrol officers look at each other and I could kick myself right then. This isn’t a crime scene. This is just two State-troopers pulling over a vehicle. There’s no-one in charge. I should know better.
‘Sorry, guys. Got myself a bit confused there. Have either of you been on board?’
One says he has and had spoken with the driver. That was all. I ask if he had noticed a young teenage girl?
He hadn’t.
Kathy and I both draw our weapons and climb onboard. I nod to the driver, who looks on the verge of panic. Kathy stays beside him at the entrance and I start down the central aisle, looking carefully at every face.
I can feel the tension rise in me as I get closer and closer to the rear seat. I figure she would probably keep low, as far away from everyone else as possible.
I’m wrong. She isn’t there.
I can’t believe it.
Walking backwards, I recheck everyone on the way until back with Kathy. She isn’t on the goddam bus. Where is she?
Behind me, I can hear Kathy ask the bus driver if he had seen a young teenage girl getting on the bus at the NCH.
‘You mean the one that said she was going to throw-up?’
I immediately turn to pay full attention.
‘She got off almost as soon as we left, way back at Golden Gate Parkway. I didn’t want her spilling her guts on the bus. I thought she would throw up and get back on, but she just ran away.’
‘So you kept going?’ I ask.
‘Hey, I work with these homeless people all the time. You can’t mother them. They make their own choices.’
‘What’s she wearing?’
‘I didn’t pay much attention. It was dark trousers, jeans maybe, and a light gray hoodie.’
Frustrated, Kathy and I step off the bus, tell him to get going, then watch as the bus pulls back onto the highway and heads north.
I thank the two troopers and explain that our suspect has jumped the bus back in Naples. They tip their hats and head back to their own vehicles, pull out one after another, leaving Kathy and I to our miseries.
‘So close,’ I say.
‘Yeah, but let’s not give up now. We know what she’s wearing, and that she’s on foot in Naples. Let’s get a BOLO out on her. The day shift will start soon. We can get her picture in front of everyone. They probably have an up to date picture at NCH. We can circulate that. We’ll find her this time.’
‘We know one other thing, Kathy. We know where she’s going?’
‘To kill Jon Smith.’
‘Exactly.’
42
It’s gone five before Kathy and I get back to the station. I send Kathy home and go talk with the duty sergeant. I ask him to have someone take over the artist’s sketch of Charlie, and show it to the security guard and the administrator to check the likeness, and ask if they have a recent photo.
I want to make sure they hand out the best possible information at the morning briefing. Specifically, the updated artist’s sketch of what a nineteen-year-old Charlie should look like, or the real thing. I also add the clothing details we have, then as I can’t think of a single other thing to do, I go home and creep quietly in, setting Alexa for eight-thirty.
The following day I feel like crap when I open my eyes. My head is aching and my fully recovered knee - is, well, not fully recovered after all. It’s sore. I pop a couple of painkillers and take a shower.
After drying off, I put on underwear and glimpse myself in the mirror. An unsolicited thought runs through my head.
I’m wondering if I would stack up to 007’s other conquests. He’s single, mid-thirties and most definitely attractive. He’ll have had many, I assume.
Then I remember how I’ve probably screwed up his mission to take down Chico Vegas the night before and decide that if he finds out, the only thing he would stack me up against might be a firing wall.
That makes me realize I haven’t decided whether to tell anyone about my deal with Vegas yet. Kathy made it clear that she intends to say nothing and will leave it to me to decide.
If I tell anyone, it won’t be 007 or Jerry. It will be Dan.
I try to get into his shoes. If I were him and one of my direct reports tells me they’ve blown a hole in a key mission, what would I tell them to do?
Fuck. I know exactly what he would say.
Make your mind up and live with the consequences either way.
That means I have to figure out what the consequences are first. That will have to be my starting point.
If I admit what Ive done, there will be a stink for sure. I’m not sure it would be a terminal stink in terms of my career, but it may be a suspension or I might lose my second-grade promotion. None of these things worry me. But, if they think I’ve made a poor call, that will.
But have I?
Given that I don’t have my suspect in custody, I’m not sure what to think about that. There again, that’s using the wisdom of hindsight.
If I don’t admit it, life will go on much as before. Everyone would assume Vegas wasn’t on site when the raid went down. They would feel good about shutting down the operation and settle for that. No harm done.
But then I remember how Vegas tried to blackmail me once before in the past. I only avoided that by pleading guilty directly to the Sheriff. If I keep quiet, I might give him another opportunity to do the same again, and there will only be a limited number of times I can use the Sheriff to escape his web.
Very limited. Probably once - and I’ve already used that.
As soon as I realize that, I send Kathy a text to avoid her being blind-sided, and finish dressing. I look over at Trace, but she seems to have this ability to sleep through whatever noise I make. I guess she has slept in noisier places than this often enough before.
I leave another ten dollars on the breakfast bar and as I’ve a growing sense of urgency about the day ahead, rather than walk, I take a cab to the office and head straight for Dan Weissman’s cubicle. For once, I’m lucky. He’s there.
I ask to speak with him in the small conference room, away from prying ears, so he follows me in and closes the door behind him.
I lay it all out for him, then sit back to wait for his response. It isn’t what I expect.
‘Have you figured out how Vegas knew about the serial killer case?’
Wrong-footed, I say I haven’t had time to think about it.
‘More significantly, Sammy. How did he know you were working the case?’
Another thing I haven’t considered. I’ve been so consumed with worry about justifying my decision, I haven’t stopped to ask myself these obvious questions. I think fast.
‘I
don’t know either of these things, Dan. But I think I can understand why he knew she was at the Project.’
‘The Joker?’ he suggests.
‘That would be my guess. But that still won’t answer the other questions.’
‘Who knew you were working the case other than in this office?’
‘Nobody. Well, other than Jerry and 007.’
‘Who?’
‘The DEA guy that led the raid last night. His name’s…’
‘James Bond?’
‘Right.’
‘How about outside the force? Friends you’ve been drinking with? Press you might have spoken to? Family?’
I was on the point of saying no to these suggestions when I think of Joey.
‘My second cousin.’
‘Say more.’
‘If you remember we had him in to finger The Joker, but he skipped out on us.’
‘So?’
‘He was in my cubicle, looking for me.’
‘So, he might have seen something, or overheard something?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘If we assume you’re right.’
‘He headed straight for the Project when he ran from here.’
‘Because that’s where he had been hanging out before. Where he was getting his drugs?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And that’s where your serial killer was hiding to prepare for her next kill?’
‘They talked?’
‘And then Joey exchanged the information with The Joker in payment for his next fix. And he told Vegas.’
‘You’re right, Dan. That makes sense.’
‘It just so happens that it was you who caught Vegas sneaking out the back of the compound last night. If it had been anyone else, he would have used the information to negotiate his way out of being charged, anyway.’
‘Would you have traded?’
‘No doubt, Sammy. To take a serial killer out of play, especially knowing that she is about to strike for an eighth time, I would have accepted in a heartbeat.’