Determinant (12 page)

“Hi, Sam.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I’ve had a hell of a day. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“I’ll just come out and say it. I’m getting a divorce.”

“OK. Why do you need to talk to me about it?”

“I never stopped loving you. I want to try again.”

“Try again?”

“Do you think we can?”

“No.”

“Carl, listen to me for a second. A few weeks ago Marty and I were arguing. He said that you told Bob Cross you still loved me. It’s all that’s been on my mind. I never thought you still felt that way. I realized that leaving you for him was a mistake. We were happy once, I think we could be again.”

“I thought you never wanted to talk to me again?”

“I’m sorry but…”

“It doesn’t matter, Sam. You’ll never know how bad I feel about what happened to you, but there’s no chance that there will ever be something between us again. You cheated on me with him. That’s it.”

“You told Marty you still loved me. That’s something.”

“I’m with someone. It’s serious.”

“Who, the twenty year old bartender Melissa told me about?”

“She’s twenty five.”

“Whatever. You’re better than that.”

My anger built. My ex-wife insulting my girlfriend, who she’d never met, was unacceptable.

“I’m better than that? By better, you mean that I should be with you? The woman who broke our marriage vows, cheated on me and is now married to the guy she cheated on me with. But wait, now you’re married to him and wanting to be with me. You’re a real catch alright, Sam.”

“Whatever, Carl. I just want to meet up and talk. We’ll see how it goes.”

“No we won’t. Sorry Sam. I’m not doing this.”

I hung up and turned my phone off. Sam would keep calling back, all night if she had to. I had dealt with her when she was like this before. She was relentless. I just hoped that she wouldn’t come to my condo.

I cracked my neck, fluffed a couch pillow behind my head and, once again, tried to relax.

Four thirty in the morning. Ray received the address from Scott in person just a half hour prior. They met at a park and ride north of the city on I-75. The meeting was short.

The Bentley sat parked one block over from the address Scott provided. Ray cut through the neighboring yard and stared at the back of Callie’s house. No light came through the windows on either floor. He walked to the window that looked into the garage toward the front of the house. The BMW was parked inside—no other cars. Ray went back the way he came. She was home. He cupped his hands around his face to look into the side window. Ray saw a single light left on over the sink. The television was off. She had to be in bed.

Ray went to the glass sliding door leading into Callie’s kitchen. From experience, Ray knew these kind of door locks were a joke. Ray took off his gloves and placed his palms against the glass. He applied pressure up and pulled to the side. The door came free of the lock. He slid it open without making a sound. He used his shirt to wipe away the finger prints and re-gloved his hands. It was almost too easy. He stepped into the kitchen.

He remained still and listened—silence. No movement from anywhere. His entry went unnoticed. He walked the lower level. The layout consisted of a kitchen, dining room, living room and walk through den. There were no bedrooms on the first floor. He climbed the carpeted steps. A hall shot to his right at the top of the stairs. Three doors stood to his left and a single closed door sat in front of him at the end of the hall. Ray took a few steps. He spotted a desk in one of the rooms to his side. A bathroom and a guest bedroom came into view beyond that. The master was the one at the end of the hall.

No light came from under the closed door. He took out the Desert Eagle from his holster. Ray walked to the door and twisted the handle. The door opened. A creak from the hinges broke the silence. Ray threw the door open and swatted at the wall for a light switch. The lights came on. A bed and dressers sat before him. The bed was empty. Ray stepped into the room. He held the gun ready. Around the corner was a short hall with two walk in closets to the sides—beyond that, the master bathroom. The door was closed. Light came from underneath. Ray took two large steps toward the door and kicked it in. The door frame exploded in splinters. The door itself flew open and lodged itself into a wall. A scream came from inside. Ray walked over the broken wood.

Callie had her back to the wall—a cell phone in her hand.

“Drop it.” Ray motioned with the gun.

Callie obeyed. “Don’t hurt me. I’m pregnant.”

“Where’s the case?”

“I don’t have it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Ray took a step toward her. “Where is it?”

Ray looked at the phone on the ground. The screen was lit. He snatched it from the floor. The cell phone’s call timer ran. The person she was calling read:
LT. Kane
.

“Viktor Azarov! Viktor Azarov!” Callie shouted.

Ray back handed her. The impact sent Callie to the floor. Ray hit buttons on the phone until it hung up. He flipped it around and pulled the battery.

“Looks like you’re coming with me.”

Ray grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the floor.

“You make a sound on the way to the car and you’ll regret it.”

Blood trickled from Callie’s lip. “Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ray pulled her through the house and out the patio doors in back. He stopped and put the gun to her head as soon as they were outside. “One noise and you’re done.”

He holstered his pistol and pulled her through the neighbor’s yard to the Bentley on the street. He popped the trunk. Callie looked inside. A man stared back at her. He didn’t blink. He was dead. Callie tried letting out a scream but was cut short by Ray’s massive hand over her mouth. He wrapped his other around her throat and gave it a squeeze.

He talked into the back of her head. “Inside without a sound or you’ll end up the same way.” Ray pushed her in and slammed the lid.

He headed for the rented mansion. He dialed Viktor.

Viktor answered. His voice was groggy from being waken. “Yes?”

Ray switched hands with the phone. “I have her.”

“What do you mean you have her? Why?”

“She made a call. I had to get her out of the house.”

“A call? To who?”

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t going to wait around to find out.”

“You let her call someone? Tell me Andrei, are you capable of doing anything right?”

“She was holed up in the upstairs bathroom. She must have heard me come into the house and called someone for help. I couldn’t stop her.”

“This is unacceptable. Do you want me to go to prison? Do you want to go to prison? Is that what you want?”

“No Viktor.”

“Then what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me. Look I have her. I’ll get the location of the case out of her one way or another.”

“No. You’re done. I’m coming up there. Lock her up. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“I can handle it, Viktor.”

“Did I not just say that you’re done? I’ll handle this myself. I should have from the start.”

“Viktor…”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. Go back to the house and stay inside. I’ll be there tomorrow. Lock her up. Don’t touch her. Don’t question her. You know what? Don’t even talk to her.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious. Leave her alone. If I get there and she’s beat up…”

Ray cut off his brother’s threat. “I won’t touch her.”

“I’ll call you and let you know when you can pick me up.” Viktor hung up.

Faint screams and thumping came from the trunk of the car on the ride back. The Bentley’s build quality canceled out most of Callie’s noise. Ray kicked on the radio to overpower out the rest. He drove back through the mansion’s gates a few minutes after 5:30 a.m. Ray pulled into the garage and got out. He opened the trunk. Callie sprang from within. She kicked, yelled and clawed in an attempt to get away. Ray squeezed her small frame against his chest. She could scream all she wanted. It wouldn’t matter here. There were no neighbors within earshot. He left Scott’s body inside the car. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Ray carried a flailing Callie into the house. She threw her arms. Callie kicked her legs. She bit. Ray tossed her to the floor in the wine room and closed the wrought iron door. He locked it from the outside. It would be her personal prison cell until Viktor arrived.

I woke up on the couch. Butch licked at my eyebrow. His sandpaper tongue pulled it up and down. Light peeked through my eyelid. I panicked and sprang to my feet. The feeling of being late for work took over in an instant. I had turned my phone off, with it, my alarm.

I caught the time and let out a breath in relief. The clock read a few minutes before seven thirty. I was only running a little behind. I walked to the kitchen. Butch leapt from the back of the couch and followed along.

“Good cat, Butch.”

He meowed and wove in between my feet as I opened the pantry for his bag of food.

“Furry little alarm clock.” I patted him on the head and filled his dish. He buried his face in it.

I sprinkled a few treats on top.

“I knew you were good for something.”

He meowed with a mouthful of food in response.

It concluded our morning conversation. I showered and threw on some pants and a shirt. I draped my shoulder holster over me. From the safe I took my service weapon and badge. I pulled on a suit jacket. With my phone from the living room and my keys from the counter, I left the condo. I didn’t have time to make coffee. I’d be forced to try my luck at the station.

A couple minutes after eight, I walked in and sat at my desk. I powered on my phone. The voicemail light flashed. I clicked the button and held it to my ear. The robotic voice of my voicemail spoke to me:
You have seventeen new messages
.

I contemplated hitting the button to delete all of them, but just hung up. The messages could wait. I didn’t have the energy to weed through seventeen messages from my ex-wife at the moment. I walked to my inbox at the front of the station. The file from the scene last night was left by Jones and Donner. Beneath it sat the no longer needed search warrant for the same property. I tossed the folder under my arm and made for the lunch room. A large
out of order sign
hung on the coffee machine. I looked to the counter next to it. Someone had a single serve machine and a basket of single serve coffees. I made myself a double and, to my surprise, found some creamer that wasn’t expired in the lunch room’s refrigerator. My morning was looking up.

Coffee in hand, I walked back to my office. I sat and opened the file. I breezed through it. We had an official statement from Jimmy. It seemed he had a change of heart when he got back to the station. He confirmed what Marques said about Mister Hill admitting the killing of Reggie Robinson. Marques revealed where the murder weapon was before he left the scene. A knock came from the other side of my door. I flipped the file closed.

“Come in!”

The door opened. The captain stood in the doorway. He held a stack of photos.

“What’s up, Cap?”

“I caught up with Jones and Donner before they left this morning. They told me about last night.”

“Robinson boys decided to take it upon themselves. The warrant was in my inbox this morning. We could have been linking up Tom Hill right now.”

The captain shook his head. “What a waste. So that case is getting put to bed?”

“Marques said Tom Hill confessed to Reggie Robinson’s murder. Jimmy, Hill’s grandson, confirmed that he said it. We have Charles and Marques in custody. Guess I’ll see them at trial.”

Bostok walked in and took a seat. “Here’s something interesting.” He slapped the photos against his hand.

“What’s that?”

“Murphy cleaned up that footage you got from the restaurant. We got a few stills and close-ups.”

He stretched out his arm with a photo. “Check out this one.”

I took it from his hand. It was a close-up of the gun from above.

“Desert Eagle. Barrel gives it away. It explains the carnage in the freezer. Did Rick or Pax get any ballistics reports yet?”

“Still looking at it last I heard. Forget about the gun for a second. Look at his wrist.”

I pulled the photo closer to my eyes. Between the sleeve of his sweatshirt and glove was red and green.

“Now look at this one.” The captain handed me another photo.

It was where he had Bryan Benson by the throat outside the freezer. You could see his other wrist. It also had tattoos, plus a shiny watch. I looked at the guy’s size compared to the other two men. “You think this is the same guy as the girl in the Bay?”

“Or there’s an overabundance of giant guys with tattoo sleeves killing people. You didn’t get anything from Patrol on the sketch?” the captain asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Find this guy. Number one priority.”

“Did you get these photos and the sketch to the press?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll do it. See what turns up,” I said.

The captain nodded and left me to my work.

I took a sip of coffee. I sat the sketch that had been sitting on my desk next to the photos the captain left. The pantyhose over his face made it impossible to see if there was a resemblance. I couldn’t tell if he had longer hair, but the description of his size and tattoos were the same on both cases. If this guy was still in the area, he had to be getting from point A to point B. If we splashed his sketch and description across every paper and television, someone should notice him.

While the public could help, I wasn’t in the business of letting the taxpayers do my job for me. I had the beginnings of a plan. I needed to bounce it off Hank. It was just before 9:00 a.m. He should have been at his desk. I called it. He answered within a ring.

“Rawlings.”

“Hank, come to my office, I want to run something by you.”

“No sweat.”

He hung up.

My cell phone buzzed and danced across the top of my desk. I scooped it up. It was my sister Melissa.