by C. M. Sutter
Lutz looked concerned as he tapped his fingers against the surface of his desk. “But with John free and the brothers working together, there’s no guessing what could happen.”
“That’s true, and I understand why you’re worried, but I really think they have more important things on their minds. Like I said, John could have had me taken out anytime he wanted with just a few words to his henchmen. I really think I’m going to skate by on this one.”
“You know what they say about payback, don’t you?”
I raised a brow. “That it’s best served cold.”
“Exactly. So watch your surroundings carefully until he’s back in custody. Curt needs to be locked up, too, and with both of them behind bars, their drug cartel could eventually crumble.” Lutz leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “I guess it’s up to the FBI to track them down now. They’ve already committed multiple federal crimes in the last few hours. I imagine Border Patrol will be informed of his escape and all means of transportation out of the United States will be alerted.” Exhaling loudly, he changed the subject. “So, back to our own business. How are we doing on the Morton homicide investigation?”
“Waiting for Forensics to finish with the evidence they’ve collected, and then they have to run the prints they found inside the home. Gruesome scene to say the least, and I told them yesterday to be thorough. The official coroner’s report should be complete soon, but according to what Don told me this morning, Tina Morton had forty-two stab wounds. I imagine any one of them could have been the wound that killed her.”
“A little extreme, don’t you think? Especially if we’re to believe it was a burglary.”
I nodded. “Right, if burglary was the intention. Foreign DNA was found under her fingernails, signs that the perp was scratched.”
“But according to the New York City PD, Mr. Morton didn’t have any marks on his body. They checked hotel footage going back to Saturday, and video shows him coming and going both days.”
“Was he alone?”
“Funny you asked. Suspect cheating to be the cause?”
“Possibly. The wife did file for divorce according to the sister-in-law and the neighbors,” I said.
“Actually, there was a dark-haired woman with him. A very attractive one is what the New York detectives told me.”
I scratched my cheek. “Could have been someone from work that escorted him to New York, or just a local escort he hired. We’ll press him on that when we get him back here.”
Lutz checked the notes in front of him. “His plane is scheduled to arrive at O’Hare tonight. What’s your gut saying, Jesse? You think it was a hired hit?”
I folded my arms over my chest and let out a puff of air. “Wives always seem to get murdered when the husband is out of town, so yeah, that’s what Frank and I think. A divorce means the hubby would be looking at a lot of maintenance payments, child support for two kids, and splitting all the assets. It’s the age-old battle about money, and when somebody coincidentally turns up dead just before a divorce, the spouse is usually responsible.” I shook my head. “People are so damn ignorant. Even with his iron-clad alibi of being out of town, we’re going to assume that Hal Morton hired someone to kill his wife.”
“Okay, get a warrant for his bank records, and then see how much life insurance was on the wife. Talk to everyone the husband knows and see what shakes out. Find out if either of them stepped outside the marital bedroom and check out that woman he was with too. The kids are still with the aunt?”
I stood and walked toward the door. “For now, yes. She said she’d take the week off work if she had to. I’ll keep you updated as we learn more.”
“Sounds good, and Jesse?”
I looked back at Bob. “Yep?”
“Remember what I said earlier about payback. John Vance and his brother are extremely dangerous men.”
“I know, and hopefully that scumbag and all his thugs will be in lockup soon.”
When I walked out of Lutz’s office, my mind was heavy with the weight of a brand-new murder case and a criminal from my past, back when I worked Narcotics. I’d never shared with anyone the final words John Vance had said to me when I made the arrest, and now I wondered if payback was still on his mind.
Chapter 7
They reached the Illinois-Missouri border in St. Louis late in the afternoon and without incident. Nobody from law enforcement was tracking a Honda Odyssey that had the plates swapped out with ones from a Volkswagen Beetle. They would drive the secondary roads for the time being. When darkness had settled in, they would ditch the Odyssey and choose another roomy vehicle to take through Arkansas and Texas. It would be two days before they’d meet up with their associates in Brownsville who had all the documents they needed to go in and out of Mexico.
A sign along the freeway showed that a wayside was a mile ahead. They would pull over and take a much-needed break, then it was Nubby’s turn to drive. Curt and John would sit in the back and go over their plans for the next few months.
“Bathroom break and vending machine coffee for now,” Curt said before they exited the van. “We’ll hit a drive-through in the next town.”
They’d brought a change of clothes for John, and his orange coveralls had been jammed inside a grocery bag, which was about to be discarded in the wayside dumpster. Curt and John—both large, muscular men—wore the same size, and a T-shirt, jeans, jacket, and a pair of sneakers were enough to tide John over for the time being. There would be plenty of opportunities to shop for clothes once they crossed the border into Mexico.
Curt sat in the third row bench seat with John while Nubby and Lon hit the restroom and vending machines. John tipped his head in their direction.
“What’s the plan for those two?”
Curt chuckled. “I’d leave them behind right now, but they aren’t trustworthy enough to be left alive. We have to kill them and ditch the bodies before we get to Brownsville. That’ll be two less people we need to deal with and two less people who might talk if they were ever captured.”
“Which isn’t going to happen. Who has eyes on McCord?”
“Conway and Cruz are in charge, and the muscle will handle most of the deeds.”
John nodded. “Good. Two of our most reliable enforcers and their assistants. I want them to follow him, unnerve him, and send us updates every day until I give the final order to put the detective down.”
“I’ll make sure they know that, brother. Come on. Let’s stretch our legs, get rid of the coveralls, and grab a coffee.”
Fifteen minutes later, the bag containing the orange jumpsuit was jammed deep into the dumpster, and they were back on the road. The elimination of Nubby and Lon would take place after dark. The brothers would look for a secluded location to dump the first vehicle, and as Lon and Nubby were moving the guns, each would get a bullet to the back of the head and be tossed in the vehicle.
The sun had set by the time they reached Poplar Bluff, Missouri, only twenty miles from the Arkansas border. It was time to rid themselves of their helpers and find another vehicle before crossing into the next state. They would stop for the night in Texarkana, and tomorrow would be a full day of driving through Texas.
“It’s time to find a car. Nubby, drive around for a bit, and let’s see what we can come up with.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Do you want me to hit parking lots or check on residential streets?”
“Safer to stick to large parking lots but away from the cameras. There are too many people lately looking out their windows and watching their surroundings with those damn doorbell cameras in residential neighborhoods.”
Nubby pulled to the curb and checked where the nearest home improvement store was. Now that it was after dark, stopping at the farthest spot from the parking lot cameras would help them go unnoticed.
“The nearest big-box store is two miles south of us.”
“Good, then head there.”
Moments later, Nubby turned in at the home impr
ovement store and drove the Odyssey around the outer rows of parking spaces.
“What about that new Pacifica?” Lon asked. “It’s got plenty of room for us and the weapons. We can’t leave them behind.”
John tipped his head toward the vehicle. “Jump out and give it a once-over. Make sure it has the push-button start.”
Lon did as told and was back in no time. “We can pop the locks and start the car. Hand me the scanning device.”
Curt passed it out the window. “Make it quick.”
Within seconds, Lon had picked up the fob’s signal, popped the locks, and climbed in behind the wheel. A push of the start button was all it took, and both vehicles bolted out of the lot and disappeared down the street.
John called Lon’s phone as they drove. “Let us get ahead of you. We’ll go back to the route we were taking into Arkansas, and when we find the right place to pull over, we’ll make the car switch.”
“Roger that, sir, and I’ll be right behind you.”
They were back on track, with only fifteen miles to go before entering Arkansas.
“Slow down, Nubby,” Curt said as they drove along a dark road, devoid of houses. Nothing was out there other than a two-lane road surrounded by woods and an occasional clearing. “This looks pretty good. Let’s make the switch right here.” Curt moved up to the center row of seats and leaned forward against Nubby’s right shoulder. He pointed ahead a hundred feet, where the shoulder was wide and the tree growth thick. “There, that’s perfect. Get out and tell Lon to pull ahead of us and stop. We’ll transfer the guns, all of our belongings, and wipe down the vehicle. Then we’ll push it down into the ditch after we take off the plates. Who knows? They may come in handy again.”
Nubby shifted into Park, and the men exited the van.
John whispered to Curt as the two helpers opened the liftgate and reached in for the guns. “Ready to do this?”
Curt nodded and went to the back of the Honda. Nubby and Lon’s fate was sealed as soon as the triggers were pulled. A second was all it took, and neither man saw it coming. One shot to the back of each head and it was over. John and Curt watched as the bodies twitched and blood sprayed across the back windows and headliner. The helpers were dead within seconds.
Curt frowned at the mess. “That’s disgusting.”
John headed for the driver’s seat. “Empty their pockets, shove them into the back, and slam the gate. I’ll drive the Odyssey, and you take the other car. We need to find a place to dump them and then get the hell out of Missouri.”
Taking the back roads deep into no man’s land, John finally pumped the brakes at a narrow dirt road. He’d found the final resting place for Nubby, Lon, and the Odyssey. He killed the engine, got out, and walked back to the Pacifica. Curt lowered the driver’s window.
“This looks like a good spot. I’ll drive in as far as I can, and we’ll unload the guns and wipe down the Odyssey one more time. Just follow me in.”
“Yep, lead the way.”
The thick brush surrounded the vans as they drove deeper in until they couldn’t go any farther. The overgrowth was scraping the sides of the vehicles, and the dirt road had become too narrow to continue on. The flora was reclaiming the area. John stopped and got out. Curt did the same but left his vehicle idling.
After opening the liftgate, they transferred the guns to the Pacifica, wiped down everything they’d touched in the Odyssey, removed the plates, and checked the pockets of the dead men one more time. “Toss the blanket over them,” John said as he pulled the keys from the ignition. “Let’s go. We have four more hours of driving to do tonight.”
Chapter 8
Hal Morton had been picked up at O’Hare and was being interviewed by our night shift detectives. A hard copy of the interrogation would be sitting on my desk first thing in the morning, and I would watch the recorded interview too. Finally leaving work at seven o’clock, I headed home and looked forward to some down time in front of the TV.
By eight fifteen, my take-out pizza was eaten, the dishes were stacked in the dishwasher, and Bandit and I had retreated to the living room. He lay snuggled at my feet on the left side of the couch, and my bottle of beer was within easy reach on the end table to my right. Relaxed, we settled in to watch a nighttime reality show.
I would take advantage of the next commercial to grab another beer out of the fridge. Bandit, who was sound asleep seconds ago, popped up his head and was concentrating on the front door. I followed his eyes, but without the keen senses dogs had, I didn’t find anything off.
“What has your attention, buddy? I suppose you hear another dog barking five blocks away, right?”
I glanced at the clock before returning my focus to the TV—8:38 p.m. Seconds later, when the commercial came on, I headed into the kitchen with my empty beer bottle. After tossing it into the recycling bin, I grabbed a cold one from the fridge and returned to the living room. Bandit’s spot on the couch was empty. I looked to my left, and he was crouched near the door as if ready to pounce. A low growl came from deep within him, and his eyes were fixated on the door. I pulled my service weapon off the end table and hugged the wall until I got to the blinds. Separating the slats, I looked out but couldn’t see the porch from my angle.
“Bandit, what’s the matter?”
I knew if I opened the door, he would bolt, and it would take all night to get him back inside. He would sprint after whatever was out there. Could someone be lurking in my yard, or was it as innocent as a rabbit or cat passing by? I didn’t know just yet, but I intended to find out.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go out back for a minute.”
Bandit needed to be in my fenced backyard while I investigated what had gotten his attention out front. I grabbed him by the collar—as he protested—and shooed him through the sliders and onto the deck. I turned off the front porch light, and with the flashlight held beneath my gun, I stepped outside and shined the light in a left-to-right sweeping fashion. I spun to the sound of shoes clacking at my back. Somebody was running down the sidewalk away from me, but in the dark, I couldn’t see the person or where they went. I yelled out but didn’t get or expect a response. I chalked it up to kids being dared to pull a prank. With a final look up and down the block, I went back to the house, flipped on the porch light, and locked the dead bolt once I was inside. As much as I’d joked about camera doorbells in the past, especially because I was a cop, I figured it might be time to check them out.
Opening the sliders, I called out to Bandit, and he charged in. “Good boy. You keep us safe, okay?” He crossed the living room and sniffed the front door.
With my laptop on the coffee table, I logged on to the internet and checked out the best-rated doorbell cameras on the market. I hit the “Buy it now” button, set the laptop down, and returned to the show that had been paused for a half hour. Then my phone rang—Frank was calling.
“What’s up, pal?” I asked.
“Nothing. Bored, I guess. Had to turn off my brain about the Morton murder. We’re at work long enough the way it is, and I don’t need to take every case home with me too.”
I laughed. “Yep, hazards of the job. Why don’t you stop over? Bandit and I are just sitting here watching TV, and I’ve got plenty of beer.”
“Yeah, sure, but I’ll bring a six-pack, anyway. See you in a half hour.”
I clicked off the call and wondered if I should share my concerns with Mills. I hadn’t seen the person I’d heard running, and there was a good chance it could have been a nighttime jogger, but the thought of John Vance roaming free had my mind working overtime. My imagination was getting the best of me, and Bandit had sensed something was wrong. He paced and whined. I needed to stop whatever I was doing and act normally, otherwise Frank would notice, too, as soon as he walked through the door.
I busied myself in the kitchen while making guacamole to go with the store-bought salsa and chips. Seeing my own reflection in the window above the sink startled me.
What the
hell is my problem?
I wasn’t sure why my nerves were on edge, but I grabbed the wand and twisted the blinds closed.
The doorbell rang as soon as I had filled the bowls with corn chips, guacamole, and salsa. I placed the snacks on a tray and set it on the coffee table then went to answer the door. When I pulled it open, a potted plant was centered on the porch. I craned my neck both ways down the sidewalk and saw nobody.
Son of a bitch.
Headlights turned into the driveway just as I stepped farther out. Frank had arrived. He climbed out of his truck, walked toward me, and pointed at the plant.
“Secret admirer?”
“Not sure.” I looked left and right one more time. “Come on in.”
Mills picked up the plant and carried it into the house. “Not even a card? That’s weird.”
I locked the door behind Frank and took his six-pack into the kitchen. He set the plant on the foyer floor then plopped down on the couch, where Bandit promptly snuggled up next to him.
“Get a doorbell camera.”
“What?” I looked around the corner as I twisted off the bottle caps.
“I said to get a doorbell camera. Nobody will ever take you by surprise, and if your admirer”—he made air quotes—“comes back, you’ll see who it is.”
I handed a bottle to Frank and took a seat. “So, you don’t think that’s stupid since we’re cops with big guns?”
“Hell no. It just eliminates the guesswork, that’s all.” He guzzled a third of the bottle without taking a breath then glanced at me. “You look worried. What’s up?”
I waved away his comment. “Nah, it’s nothing. Bandit was growling at the door earlier.”
“That’s probably when the plant showed up.”