by Carolina Mac
Carlos grinned as he hopped out. “The boss can get worked up.”
“Jesus Christ, nobody has a shorter fuse,” said Farrell.
Blaine glanced around the crowded parking area. “Where’s Peyton?”
Farrell waved his good arm at the far end of the parking lot. “She’s way down there. Only spot open, I guess.”
“Wait until she sees you, then catch up,” said Blaine.
“Uh huh.”
“And call Mary.”
“Uh huh.”
Media people close to their vehicles surged towards Blaine. “Ranger Blackmore, can you give us any details? Is a serial killer loose on the campus?”
Blaine held up a hand. “Sorry to disappoint y’all. No serial killer. I’m not letting y’all close enough to film anything, so go for a coffee. What you can do, is film the dogs working when Travis gets here. For anything else, wait until I know something more.”
“Great, thanks,” said one reporter and he was sincere. “People love to watch the dogs work.”
Blaine and Carlos circled the building and found Doctor Mort Simon kneeling beside the girl, with his helper, Tim, beside him.
The victim was small, just over five feet tall, short blonde hair tangled up with dirt and leaves, naked from the waist down. Her top was torn and pulled off one arm. Dried blood around her mouth and nose.
“What Mort?” asked Blaine.
“Beaten and choked during. I’m undecided why she died.”
“Okay,” said Blaine. “Tim, let me know when you’ll have her on the table.”
“Will do, Ranger B.”
Farrell and Carlos showed up at the scene with Peyton, Luke and John. Blaine waved them over. “There’s a witness and I’m going to talk to her. You guys split up and canvas door to door inside—the rooms facing the back—anybody who could potentially see this area. Take names and numbers of any maybes. It’s barely dark now. Somebody had to see or hear something.”
Peyton started to leave with the men. “Peyton, you’re with me on the witness.”
“Sure, boss. Where is she?”
“Sitting in Ranger Ruskin’s squad,” said Blaine, “I don’t want to surround her with a lot of men at this moment.”
“Good thinking, boss.”
REGAN MIDDLETON was taller than the victim, long dark hair and a prominent nose. She sat in the front seat of Ranger Ruskin’s vehicle sobbing into a wadded-up gob of tissues.
She turned her head and glanced over the console when Blaine and Peyton slid into the back seat.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Middleton,” said Blaine, “but I have to ask you to tell me what happened.”
“I already told it to her,” she pointed at Ruskin. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to talk about it if we want to catch whoever killed your friend.”
Regan sobbed for a moment, took a drink from the bottle of water in the cup holder. “Okay, you’re right. I can do it.”
Blaine flipped on a recorder he pulled from his pocket and set up the statement. “Go ahead when you’re ready.”
“Lori and I were jogging back to our dorm after class—a thing we did every day—kind of a race.” She blew her nose and Ruskin offered her more tissues. “We ran past the big clump of trees with the flower bed around it, and three guys jumped out of the bushes and scared us. One of them said, ‘boo’ then started laughing while the other two grabbed Lori and dragged her under the bushes. I screamed and ran, and a fourth guy chased me all the way around to the front of the dorm. I ran inside and pressed 911 on my phone. When I looked out, he was gone. As soon as I heard the sirens I ran back to where Lori was, and she was just lying there. She wasn’t moving.” Regan sobbed.
“Were the boys wearing anything you could remember?” asked Blaine, “Like leather vests or jackets?”
“Vests, like tough guys and bandanas around their foreheads. They had on vests with no shirts, ripped jeans and boots. I saw the boots when one of them kicked Lori in the stomach.”
“Did any of them call out to the others,” asked Blaine, “Like holler out a name?”
“Umm… I can’t think, but they were yelling a lot of stuff and laughing a lot. My, God, they were hurting Lori and laughing.”
“Thank you, Regan, that was helpful. Do your parents live here in Austin or are you from out of state?”
“They live out near Barton Creek Park. They wanted me to commute to school from home, but I wanted to stay in the dorm with Lori.” More sobbing.
“Deputy Starling will drive you home now.” Blaine passed her a card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call on my cell.” To Peyton: “Before you leave her, speak to her parents—don’t just drop her off.”
“Right, boss. And after that, do you want me back?”
“Not tonight. The boys will work the dogs and I’ll do the notification. That’s all we’ll get done. Get some sleep. We’ll be busy tomorrow.”
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE was finishing up at the barn when Travis called about the dogs. “That’s okay, Trav, don’t bother coming this way. Go straight to the scene and help Blacky. I’ll leave right now with the dogs.”
“Okay, boss. See you there.”
Jesse loaded the dogs into the back of the Range Rover, then ran into the house for his cred pack and his gun. Charity was in her high chair in the kitchen with Molly feeding her dinner. She saw Jesse getting ready to leave and started hollering, “Me, Daddy. Me.”
“I’m taking the dogs to a crime scene, Molly, and I shouldn’t take her.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Your call, Mr. Quantrall.”
Charity sat with her arms in the air waiting for Jesse to pick her up. He blew out a breath. “Okay, you can come for the ride.”
University Campus. Austin.
BLAINE sat on the grass outside the yellow tape waiting for Jesse to arrive with the dogs. Exhausted and depressed he wondered what good he’d be on a new case. All members of the team were inside talking to students in hopes somebody had seen or heard something.
Ranger Ruskin had offered to do the notification to free Blaine up, and he had gladly accepted. Notifications were the worst part of the job.
Blaine’s phone signaled a text and it was Jesse in the parking lot with the dogs. Blaine called Travis inside the dorm. “Hey, Travis, Jesse is in the parking lot with the dogs. Take Fletcher and go get them.”
“Yep, I’m gone.”
Five minutes later, Travis and Fletcher returned with Red and Bluebelle on their leashes. Jesse followed behind carrying Charity.
“Hey, her first crime scene,” said Blaine.
“She wanted to come and I’m not good at saying ‘no’ to her.”
“You’ll get better when she wants a red convertible, boss,” said Travis.
Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll have to.”
“Boobelle,” said Charity. “Mine.”
“Mine,’ is the new word,” said Jesse. “Everything belongs to Charity.”
“Got flashlights?” asked Blaine.
The dogs sniffed all around the crime scene and spent a while in the bushes where the attack had taken place. Travis walked in an ever-widening circle from the spot where Lori had been found hoping Bluebelle would pick up the scent of one of the boys. At least they’d have a direction.
Red alerted first and took off running towards the parking lot. Without pause, he crossed the paved area, passed another building and stopped at the road running through the campus.
“Shit,” said Fletcher.
Blaine called it a night at the crime scene and sent everybody home. Jesse had gone earlier to put Charity to bed and Travis planned to take the dogs to his apartment overnight. They might be needed again the following day.
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
WHEN the crew arrived back at the agency, Farrell pulled Carlos aside. “You got anything pressing at home?”
“Shit no,�
�� he grinned, “wish I had something hot waiting for me, but sad to say, I don’t. What you got in mind?”
“I got a bit of a network downtown. Want to go for a pitcher and see what the talk is?”
“Sure, as hell do. I want to get to know Austin better than I do now. I used to have my own little network in Laredo when I worked gangs. Helpful sometimes when you’re stuck. I can drive.”
“Let me see if my brother wants to go.”
“You don’t look like your brother,” said Carlos.
“How could I?” asked Farrell. “His father was an educated Latino and mine was filthy white trash.”
Carlos nodded and offered nothing further.
Farrell stuck his head in the kitchen where Blacky was reaching for a Corona. “Me and Carlos are going to Grady’s to see if there’s any talk.”
“I’m dead beat, but I want to come with.”
Grady’s Irish Pub. Downtown Austin.
FARRELL entered the dimly lit bar first and glanced around for any familiar faces. None. Not yet. The people he wanted to see were night people. They were thieves and drug peddlers and hookers who spent their days sleeping and their nights working the streets.
He gave a wave to the bartender who knew him from previous visits. “Give me a couple of pitchers of Shiners and three glasses over there.” Farrell pointed to an empty corner booth. The Irish music was so loud he wasn’t sure if Mike heard him, but the fat bartender nodded and filled up a couple of pitchers.
Blacky and Carlos trailed in behind and sat where Farrell was pointing. “Any of your buddies here yet?”
Farrell shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Do they hear about gang activity?” asked Carlos.
“They seem to hear everything,” said Farrell. “How? I have no fuckin idea.”
Mike brought the pitchers and the glasses and asked if they wanted any food.
“Food,” said Blaine. “We haven’t had any food. What have you got that’s worth eating?”
Mike grinned. “Not much, but the all-day breakfast is about the safest thing we got. Not much the asshole in the kitchen can do to ruin bacon and eggs.”
“Give us three double orders,” said Blaine, “with double toast and jam and extra home fries.”
“You got it.”
“I’m fuckin fading,” said Blaine. He chugged the first glass and refilled it.
After the first pitcher was empty, Farrell hit the men’s room. When he returned, Taffy was sitting at the bar. “Hey, girl, come sit with me. I’ll get you some food.”
“Hey, Farrell.” She followed him to the table and Carlos moved over.
“This is Taffy. Want a shot, girl?”
She nodded. “Bad night so far. Asshole hit me in the throat.” She pointed. Her voice was coming out in a whisper.
“Hear anything about the campus rape?”
She nodded her head slightly. “Those fuckin maniacs on George Street. I wish you jerks would round them up and fry their asses.”
“I’d be happy to, girl. Any names?”
“You got cash for me?”
“Cash, food and a shot of Petron.”
“Give me food first. I ain’t eaten in two days.”
“Shit, girl, you can’t spend every cent getting high. You’re gonna kill yourself. Know that?”
“I know it, but I still do it.”
Mike brought their food and the platters filled most of the table.
“Bring Taffy a plate and a shot of Petron, Mike, and we need cutlery.”
“Who the fuck do I look like? Martha Stewart?”
“Close,” said Farrell.
Mike returned with cutlery, a shot for Taffy and a second order of toast. He plunked the jam caddy down and lumbered back to the bar.
“I can’t eat anymore,” said Blaine after they polished off most of the food.
Taffy was still eating.
Farrell put another piece of toast on her plate. “You gonna tell me the names of the George Street fuckers you hate so I can get them out of your pretty face?”
“Antonio,” she said between bites. “I hate his ass the worst. And coming in a close second, is his brother, Franco. They’ve ripped me and my friends off more than once.”
“They live on George Street?”
“A lot of the gang does, or the next block over. I don’t think they got much territory and they’re pressing. Know what I mean?”
“Small time, looking to get bigger?” asked Farrell.
Taffy looked up from her empty plate. “They act big time—but they ain’t.”
“They have a leader?” asked Blaine.
“I haven’t seen any cash yet.”
Blaine pulled out his wallet and slapped a Ben Franklin down.
Taffy eyed the money and said, “Gus Andreas is a creep. I hate the fucker. You need to kill him.”
“Okay,” said Blaine. “Thanks, Taffy.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday, April 11th.
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
AT SIX A.M. Blaine sat staring at his computer screen doing research into the ganger names Taffy had provided. Almost daylight and he couldn’t sleep worth a shit for worrying about Misty, so he might as well be getting something done. Coffee was brewing, and the dogs were in the yard.
Carm was fretting because Hoodoo was eating less and might get sick because he was missing Misty. Another thing to worry about.
Blaine tried to focus. Gus Andreas: Twenty years old and he had a thick jacket. Trafficking, possession with intent, assault, the list went on. He’d served six months in Travis County for the current charge of assault and was out on parole. He had an address on George Street and Blaine wrote it down.
Not much luck with Antonio and Franco. He needed last names. The gang squad might know.
Farrell came into the office with two mugs of coffee, one in each hand. “I heard you up. Did you hear from Misty?”
Blaine shook his head. “It’s driving me nuts and I can’t sleep. I don’t know what to do to find her.”
“Want me to go to New Orleans? You’re a fuckin mess and I ain’t doing much to help out here with my arm the way it is. Can’t even fuckin drive the newbies around.”
“Where would you look?”
“I wouldn’t look. MP is doing the looking. I would listen.”
Blaine looked up from his keyboard and focused on Farrell’s face. His foster brother had street smarts, and keen insight into the undercurrent of the city. He felt things and was right on the money almost always. “Uh huh. Sure, why don’t you do that today. I’ll get you a reservation at the Fairfax house. That’s where Misty likes to stay, and she might pop in there and reclaim her room.”
“How many days since she hasn’t popped in to her room?” asked Farrell.
“Too goddam many.”
Farrell sipped his coffee. “Find me a flight.”
AT SEVEN FORTY-FIVE A.M. the crew reported for work. Blaine pointed at the coffee maker and focused on his list. The boys were moving a little slow this morning and not saying much, but a mug of caffeine might get them out of low gear. They fixed their coffee, most grabbed a muffin from the basket Carm had set out for them, then they made their way back to the table, sat down and waited for Blaine to speak.
“We did a little after-hours digging last night and the rumor on the street says that members of the George Street gang are responsible for the murder of Lori Bradburn. This may or may not be true, but it’s a lead and we’ll follow it up. I have an address for the leader. His name is Gus Andreas and Travis and I will bring him in this morning. Jesse usually handles the interrogations because he’s better at it than anyone else.”
Blaine checked his notes and pointed his pen at Peyton. “Peyton, and Fletcher are back on campus talking to security and getting copies of anything we might be able to use. Security systems are Fletcher’s area of expertise for those of you who don’t know. You saw the path the dogs took, so concentrate on the cameras in that
area and the ones front and back of the dorm. It’ll take you most of the day to view the tapes, but we need something solid. We have to place the gang members on campus to make a case for the DA. If we can’t do that, there’s very little point in arresting them.”
“Carlos and John are talking to APD gang squad. Talk to Ted Ortiz or if he’s not around go straight to Lieutenant Doug Cooke. They’re always happy for the help, and we need any and all information they have on these guys. Also, if the George Street punks are in a battle with a rival gang, we need to know who they’re fighting with. The rape and murder of an innocent might be part of a pissing contest. It’s been known to happen.”
Carlos nodded as he made notes.
“Carlos worked gangs in Laredo and he knows how these assholes think.”
Blaine took a sip of his coffee and kept going. “Jesse is already at headquarters working on another case, so he’ll fill the Chief in on what progress we’ve made.” He pointed at Luke. “Luke, stay behind for a minute.”
Blaine stood up and walked the crew outside. “Keep in touch with Lil, she holds us all together and I call her regularly for updates. Call me with anything important on my cell.”
Blaine returned to the kitchen and Luke and Farrell were the only two left. Luke sat slouched at the table with his empty mug in front of him. Blaine got him a refill, one for himself and sat down. “Farrell is going on a personal job for me and I want you to help him.”
Luke looked relieved. “Okay, no problem.”
“My girlfriend, Misty, is missing and has been for too many days. Missing persons can’t find her, and Farrell wants to try another approach. Farrell is a street guy and he’s good at what he does, the problem is, he doesn’t know the city and I think you might be the one to help him with that.”
“Where was Misty when she went missing?” asked Luke.
“New Orleans.”
“Okay, that makes sense. I’ve worked some in the city and I know a few people.”