Vincent held the binoculars back up to his eyes and looked once again at Tony. His face was slack as his friend seemed to try to snap him out of his dour mood. But he couldn’t.
When Edgar Vincent looked at the man, he saw someone in mourning.
“I think Tony Moretti is clean,” Vincent said. “I’m willing to bet the bank on it.”
“Still,” Brandt said, turning the key, “the Moretti family was paid a pretty penny for that life insurance payout.”
“Yeah,” Vincent said as Brandt put the car in gear. “And I have the feeling that someone other than Tony is taking advantage of those benefits.”
Kelly Moretti walked through her parents’ house as if the murders had never taken place. She was alone in the kitchen, twirling and singing with the song playing from some system that Vincent couldn’t see where “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder was playing full blast.
“I can hear the music from here,” Vincent said. “How loud is she playing it?”
Brandt said, “I don’t know, but at least it’s good music.”
Vincent watched from a ways down across the street as Kelly went about discarding the dishes in the sink, she shut the music shut off and then moved hastily toward the garage—clearly on her way out the door.
“Our girl is moving,” Vincent said.
Brandt reached for the key in the ignition. “Should we follow her?”
“Yeah,” Vincent said. “Give her about a block of leeway before you follow.”
Brandt started the engine. “Copy that.”
Minutes passed as Kelly went about gathering her gear, opened the garage door, and backed out in a brand-new looking electric blue Audi.
Brandt whistled. “Nice ride. I was still taking the bus when I was her age.”
Vincent lowered the binoculars. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Kelly closed the garage with a remote and drove a half block before Brandt started the pursuit.
They tailed Kelly for miles. She linked up with the highway that led to the strip mall as Brandt kept enough distance so that they wouldn’t be spotted.
“Okay, Kelly,” Brandt said with a grin. “Where are you headed?”
Kelly got off after three exits and took a right at the end of the ramp, made another right, and finally came to a stop just outside the strip mall: the BMW dealership.
“Well, well,” Vincent said as Brandt parked the car a ways down the street. “This picture, it seems, is painting itself.”
They watched as Kelly parked the Audi and approached a man in a suit with a salesman’s swagger waiting for her at the door. They shook hands—clearly familiar with one another—before Kelly moved to his desk.
“Unbelievable,” Brandt said. “The girl is trading her old car.”
“By old, you mean brand new,” Vincent said. “Hell, I’ve been driving the same rig now for almost ten years.”
“Must be a reliable vehicle.”
“It’s not.”
They watched as Kelly worked with the salesman, motioning continuously at the model behind her with a price tag that would require a year’s salary from Vincent or Brandt.
“Like I said,” Vincent said, reaching for the pack of mint gum in his pocket, “this case is starting to solve itself.”
“Could this girl really be that transparent?” Brandt said. “Plus, can she even get a car without her father’s assistance? She’s only sixteen.”
“Seventeen in two months,” Brandt said. “And I’m sure Tony is helping her pull the strings on this. If Kelly’s the daddy’s girl I think she is; I’m sure it doesn’t take that much for her to wrap him around her little finger.”
Brandt clicked her tongue as moments later she watched as the salesman waved goodbye to Kelly driving a brand new BMW off the lot. “This doesn’t look good for her,” she said. “Girl has been spending cash like nobody’s business.”
“Yeah,” Vincent said. “I’m starting to think that it’ll all be easy to piece together once we get those hardworking folks at forensics on the line.”
As fate would have it, two minutes later, Vincent’s cell phone rang.
“It’s forensics,” he said to Brandt, utterly relieved. “Christmas has finally arrived.”
11
Chief Detective Grimes was in her office with Brandt and Vincent, the results of all the forensic tests completed, collated, and arranged in a neat pile on her desk. “Should I drag it out, or just say his name?”
“I’ll take door number two,” Vincent replied.
Grimes slipped into her chair and tilted her head. “Aiden Stonebrook,” she said. “We found a partial print and two hairs. All of it linked to the samples we took from Aiden.”
“Do you have a warrant for his arrest?” Brandt asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to confer with you two first and a couple of my other detectives before we set anything in motion. I’ve contacted the DA’s office, and a judge is on standby to issue an arrest warrant based on the physical evidence.”
“Great news,” Vincent said. “I don’t think there’s much to discuss based on the evidence.”
Brandt held up a finger. “I am curious,” she said, “as to what was found in relation to Tony and Kelly Moretti.”
“Nothing that doesn’t already corroborate the stories that Kelly and Tony gave us,” Grimes said. “All signs seem to point to Aiden Stonebrook as our culprit.”
Vincent sat back and pondered.
“What’s on your mind, detective?” Grimes asked.
“I still think there were two people in that house,” he said. “Forensics didn’t find anything else other than the matches on Stonebrook?”
“Nothing, which leads me to think that the second-assailant theory has no legs. None of the evidence found supports it.”
Vincent took a moment. He had been so sure that there was a second suspect.
“Anyway,” Grimes said, “this narrative looks like Stonebrook killed his girlfriend’s mother and brother out of spite.”
Vincent sighed—he wasn’t a fan of that theory. “Well,” he said, “nothing came up in Aiden’s or Kelly’s text exchanges that incriminates anyone other than Aiden.”
“Based on the times he spoke about his contempt for her parents.”
“Correct. And coupling that with the DNA evidence, it would seem that this was a case of a young man getting ‘revenge’ on his girlfriend’s family.”
Grimes leaned back in her chair, her eyes on Vincent. “So,” she said, “what do you believe happened?”
Vincent looked at Brandt. Tell her.
Brandt leaned in. “We monitored Kelly Moretti’s movements,” she said, “and it looks like the girl has been spending a lot of cash these past few weeks.”
“Really,” Grimes said.
“Indeed,” Brandt continued. “She just purchased a brand-new BMW with what we believe is her father’s help.”
“Look,” Vincent said, “I’m just going to say what I’m thinking.”
Grimes motioned for Vincent to do so.
“I think Kelly Moretti got her boyfriend to do this,” Vincent continued. “I think she promised him a cut of that life insurance policy that was dished out to her father.”
“And you think he’s letting Kelly use that money?”
“We’ve tailed her and Tony Moretti four times now,” Vincent said. “Tony is the malleable one in the relationship, and ever since his wife and his son died, he’s done every last thing that his daughter requested.”
“And Kelly,” Brandt added, “couldn’t be more content the past few weeks. She’s living very high off the hog.”
Grimes thought it over. “So what would your next move be?”
“Well,” Vincent said, “Aiden was involved. Unequivocally. We arrest him, bring him in, sweat him, and get him to roll over on Kelly. If he doesn’t, then Kelly Moretti is smarter than all of us and I for one, am not ready to accept that.”
Grimes tapped her desk. “Okay,” she finally said. “I
want the two of you to go ahead and bring him in. Quietly. Discreetly. If what you’re saying about Kelly is indeed true, I don’t want her becoming the wiser if we haul in her boyfriend.”
“Understood,” Vincent said.
They all stood up.
“I’ll get the warrant issued within the hour,” Grimes said, moving toward the door.
“We’ll scope out Aiden’s house,” Vincent said, “make sure that he’s all tucked in until the warrant is issued.”
12
Brandt saw the flash first as they arrived on Aiden’s street, and pointed it out as Vincent peeked over the steering wheel. “Did you see that?” she asked.
Vincent heard the pop.
It was a gunshot.
“Should I hit the lights?” Brandt asked.
“Do it.”
Brandt hit the wailer as Vincent pulled the cruiser in front of the Stonebrook house, parked it at an angle, and rushed toward the front door with Brandt in tow.
“Taking point,” Brandt said, pulling her weapon out as Vincent covered her from the rear.
A man cried out from the upstairs bedroom, followed by another gunshot.
“Exigent circumstances,” Brandt called out.
“I’m kicking the door in,” Vincent said.
Brandt drew a breath. “Police!” she called out. “We’re armed, entering your residence!”
Vincent raised his foot smashed the door in, splintering the wood, the door flying open as he and Brandt moved inside and swept the first floor.
“Clear,” he said.
“Clear,” she said soon after.
Vincent gestured over his shoulder to the stairwell that led up, taking the lead this time as he heard a gunshot and the shattering of glass coming from one of the rear bedrooms.
“Call it in,” he said.
Brandt grabbed her cell phone and called home base. “This is Detective Brandt and Detective Vincent; send all units to 1031 Perlita Avenue. Shots fired. I repeat, shots fired at 1031 Perlita Avenue. Officers in need of assistance.”
“Ten-four, detective,” the dispatcher said. “Dispatching units to your area now. Stand by.”
Brandt hung up as they arrived at the top of the stairs—a bedroom on the far left and one directly to their right.
Brandt pointed to the bedroom on the right.
Vincent stood aside, providing cover.
Brandt kicked in the door, swept the room with Vincent close behind her, and found nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and a closet with a bunch of flannel shirts.
“Clear.”
They focused their attention on the door at the end of the hallway on their left, a shadow visible under the crack at the bottom.
“Taking point,” Vincent said as he moved in front of Brandt.
They converged on the door, quiet and swift, Vincent calling out, “Police,” again, before raising his foot and kicking it in. The two of them the swept the room, spotted the shattered window, and the bodies of Ben and Aiden Stonebrook—both shot in the head, Aiden lying across his bed with Ben on the floor at the foot of it.
Vincent went to the window and peeked out with caution. “Shit,” he said. “It feeds into the woods. It’s about a half block from the highway.”
They rushed downstairs after Brandt took Aiden and Ben’s vitals to confirm there were no signs of life.
“If whoever did this has a car waiting,” Brandt said. “They could be out of here before we make it down the stairs.”
They hurried out to the porch as two Hollow Green Police squad cars squealed up to the side of the street with sirens blaring.
Vincent pointed to the wooded area to his right. “Check the woods. Suspect just fled in that direction. Call the rescue units as well and more backup. We have two bodies inside.”
The four uniformed officers got out their vehicles and gave chase as Brandt and Vincent searched the surrounding area—back door, backyard, all sides of the house, and even the neighbors’ residences.
The officers in the woods found nothing, and Brandt and Vincent spotted not a single track in the surrounding area. They stood in the street and tried to figure out what to do.
“Who do you think it was?” Brandt asked.
Vincent had more than a good idea of who to focus on. “It’s obvious who did this,” he said, looking at Brandt. “We both know who did this.”
Brandt grabbed her phone and dialed the number for Tony Moretti. But the call went to voicemail immediately. “No answer,” she said.
“Shit,” Vincent said, pulling his own phone and calling Grimes.
“Chief Detective Grimes,” she answered.
“It’s Vincent and Brandt. Someone just shot Aiden Stonebrook and his father.”
“Oh, God.”
“Send units to the Moretti household. I think Kelly Moretti may have done this.”
“Copy that. Get here as soon as you can.”
“Roger that.”
Vincent hung up.
“Is she really this stupid?” Brandt asked. “Do you really think Kelly did this?”
Vincent did—and he was more than ready to prove it.
Tony Moretti was dead—shot in the head as with Ben and Aiden Stonebrook. Unlike them, however, Tony was lying face down in the kitchen—not far from the spot his wife was murdered—a pool of blood around his crown that had been drying for quite some time.
“He died before Ben and Aiden,” Vincent said as he examined the body.
Brandt was busy searching on Kelly’s laptop. “Get a load of this,” she said.
Vincent approached and found that Brandt had pulled up Kelly’s search history.
“Look at the last two pages,” Brandt said as she pulled out her phone.
Vincent glanced at Kelly’s history. “Son of a bitch.” He was already moving toward the door. “She’s going to try and catch a plane out of here!”
13
“Did you call airport security?” Vincent asked Brandt as he slammed his foot down on the gas, weaving through traffic as best as he could.
Brandt hung up with security before Vincent finished his question. “They’ve got O’Hare TSA and Chicago PD closing in on the terminal. They notified the flight that Kelly’s booked to be on and they’re currently scouring the airport as we speak.”
Officers were hustling through a pair of sliding doors the moment that Vincent pulled to the curb and flashed the lights. He and Brandt got out of the car and joined the officers from Chicago PD as they rushed inside. “Detective Vincent,” Vincent said. “We called this in.”
“Southwest terminal is this way,” one of them said, pointing to the right as everyone picked up the pace, and heads turned inside the airport as the group of police officers rushed through the airport.
“We have officers everywhere,” another patrolman said. “Airport security and TSA initiated their lockdown protocols. We have people at security, the terminal, everywhere. Your suspect isn’t going very far.”
The officers led the way as Brandt and Vincent followed them to the southwest terminal, a TSA member waiting at the gate with a gate attendant.
“Your passenger checked in online,” the attendant said. “I tried calling over the PA system twice, but there was no answer.”
Brandt looked to Vincent. “Think she got spooked?”
Vincent thought about it. It was more than possible.
“She still can’t get far,” he said. “Airport is locked down. We’ve got eyes everywhere.” He turned to the men. “Get some female officers and do a check of the bathrooms just in case.”
The officers moved off toward the restrooms with palms resting on their holstered sidearms.
Brandt nudged Vincent. “What’s the play?”
Vincent set his gaze upon the people in the airport. Several sets of suspicious eyes were on him and Brandt and the commotion by the gate as he scoured the terminal for signs of Kelly.
“Do a walk-through,” he said.
“She’s proba
bly not dumb enough to still be hiding out here,” Brandt said.
Vincent shrugged. “You never know.”
They began their walk-through, watching each person they came across as they worked their way left to right, though they knew their chances of finding Kelly were somewhere between slim and none.
After their search came up empty, they met back at the terminal, both of them shaking their heads and fighting off that sickly feeling that they were just a tad too late.
“She’s not here,” Brandt said. “Is she?”
Vincent took one last look around. “No,” he said. “No, this was a misdirect. Kelly’s gone. That’s for damn sure. I just don’t know how the hell she did it.”
Moments later, the same group of Chicago officers came running back to Vincent and Brandt. “Nothing,” the one on the right said. “But we still have people looking.”
“We checked in with the other teams,” the one on the left said. “So far, zippo.”
Vincent rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “God damn it,” he said under his breath. “How did she do it?” He looked at Brandt. “Where the hell did she go?”
Kelly Moretti smiled as the taxi drove away. The sheer amount of Chicago PD searching the airport and frantically trying to find her left her with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. The smile on her face was hard for her to contain.
After ditching her father’s car in the parking lot and hailing what had to be one of the last yellow cabs in the city, Kelly was on her way to her true exit point, far away from Edgar Vincent and the people of the Sheriff’s Department.
The cab took her to a bus. That bus took her to a seedy neighborhood in the heart of Chicago. In that part of town was a house, a two-story colonial painted a bland and grimy earth tone, overgrown with weeds.
Kelly tossed glances over both her shoulders then pulled some strands from her recently cut and darkly dyed hair over her sunglasses as an extra precaution as she opened the gate, ascended the steps, and knocked on the door three times—the number of times she was instructed to knock. Everything had to go as planned.
Hollow Ground Page 5