Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00 (13 page)

Now he was patronizing me. Since I
didn’t think he and his father were being truthful, I didn’t want to share any
information about Tamara. I merely said, “I talked to Tamara recently.”

He paused. “You talked to Tamara?” he
said, but he didn’t look too surprised. “Interesting…”

Howard Grant looked uneasy when he
heard that.

Detective Carter gave me the signal
it was time to leave. He gave his condolences, again, adding that he’d see them
at the station in the morning.

Aaron didn’t bother to get up, but
his eyes followed me out of the room. I couldn’t help but notice there was a
definite chill in the air as we walked into the night, only the temperature
outside was as warm as a day in spring.

CARTER AND I were both thinking the same
thing when we left. Their behavior was
bizarre
. There were a few things
that stood out, but the most glaring was that neither one of them asked how
Tamara had died. Aaron didn’t seem to care. He almost looked relieved. That
reminded me of another thing my mom used to say: instincts are sometimes all
you have to go on. My instincts were telling me something very strange occurred
inside the walls of the Grant household. All I could think was, poor Tamara.
Her mother couldn’t care for her, and she was stuck with a family like that.

Carter gave me some quiet time while
we drove back to the pickup, so I took the time to think. When Tamara called,
she asked me if I got the package. What package? There was something about the
shooting that bothered me, as well. Like the fact that an officer - the one I
called Anchor - was already on the scene before he got a chance to put out the
call. I wanted to discuss it with Carter, but it was a can of worms I wasn’t
ready to open yet. I needed more information.

When we arrived back at the crime
scene, news vans and cameramen from every local station had descended on the
area. Helicopters were flying overhead. News had spread that the murder victim
was the housekeeper of a prominent and wealthy Sutter Beach resident. We drove
around several blocks to by-pass reporters; and headed on foot. 

A block away from my car, I noticed
something shiny on the ground. Carter did too. We looked at each other, and at
the same time, took off running. The window to the passenger side of the pickup
was shattered to pieces. Glass was scattered all over the sidewalk.

“What the heck!”

Carter yelled, “How the hell could
somebody vandalize a lemon-yellow pickup with all these uniforms around?”

When I went to open the door on the
driver’s side, I knew it wasn’t just vandalism. The pickup was a mess. “Whoever
did it pulled everything from the glove compartment and ripped the side panels
off the doors.”

Carter glanced at me. “What were they
looking for?”

“I have no idea.” I couldn’t help but
feel this was a little too coincidental. Tamara Marquez was murdered. Then
someone broke into my pickup. What did they think I had?

Carter was pissed. He turned to the
uniformed cops and reamed them up and down. It wasn’t until they told him they
just arrived from the shift change that he finally calmed down. He raked his
fingers through his hair. “Syd, I need to get the Ident Team over here to dust
for prints. They probably wore gloves, but I need to check.”

My shoulders sagged. “Okay.”

My prized possession was now a crime
scene, as well. When he walked away, I sat curbside and thought about things
that had happened in my life over the last couple of months. The world really
could be a dark place.

Then, the hair on the back of my neck
started to rise, and I got the feeling someone was watching me. I scanned the
area. Dozens of uniformed officers from Sutter Beach and Los Angeles were at
the scene. And then I saw him, blending in with the others…Anchor. Our eyes
locked. I felt the chill up my spine. I darted a look toward Carter, who was
busy with a crime scene tech; then I looked back at Anchor. He was gone. The
guy sure freaked me out, but I couldn’t accuse a cop of anything without having
some kind of proof. I remembered the nasty emails I received, after my mom accused
a cop of siphoning from the pension funds.

The tech finished dusting the pickup,
so the next few minutes I spent arguing with Carter about driving it. “I need a
car,” I said.

“You can get a rental.”

“I can’t get a rental. I’m only
eighteen. You have to be twenty-one to get a rental. You don’t want me to use
my fake I.D. to get a rental, do you?” He knew I had a fake I.D., but I agreed
to never use it to get into a bar, or to buy alcohol. So far, I had kept my
promise, honest.

“Let me tow it to the shop,” he
argued. “I’ll give you a loaner in the mean time. You can use my old jalopy.
I’ll send somebody to pick it up.”

His old jalopy was a classic Rambler
that was hip back when he was a teenager, but would get me a load of laughs,
now. I didn’t really have a choice. I guess it was better than riding around
with a cardboard box taped to the window. “Fine,” I finally said.”

He got out on the wire and asked a
couple of rookies to pick up the car; then he leaned up against the pickup.
“You interested in hearing what I learned at the crime scene, so far?”

“Um, okay.” I was kind of surprised
he would share any information with me. Cops usually kept everything quiet, so
the case didn’t get messed up at trial once the perp was caught.

“The techs located four slugs.”

“Yeah, I heard four shots.”

“One slug was obviously accounted
for.”

I bristled. “The slug in Tamara’s
forehead...”

“Shooter took two shots at her. There
was a second slug found in the steps near the body.”

“Okay, so what happened to the other
two?”

He leveled me with a look. “Inches
away from where you were crouched down, hiding.” He paused to let the
information sink in.

I glanced up at him. “So, they were
shooting at me, too?” Hearing it made it real, and it scared me.

After that, Carter also insisted I
allow a police officer to camp out at my place to keep an eye on me. I
declined. I told him I would make sure Cody was around. After whining over and
over again, he finally gave in, but called me, relentless. Where have I heard
that before? I watched him join the other officers back at the crime scene.
When the loaner car arrived, I headed home.

I ONLY got about four hours of sleep.
When I arrived at SBPD the following morning, Carter, several crime scene techs
and uniformed officers were seated around his desk conferring on the case. The
minute I walked in, Carter signaled for everyone to be quiet. I guess he didn’t
want them discussing the case around me. He stood up, and gave me a quick hug.
“How are you doing this morning?”

“I’m okay.” I had to hold it
together. I had no choice.

He handed me a statement. “I already
took the liberty of having it typed up based on what you said. Read it. Make
any changes you think are necessary and add anything you forgot; then sign it.”

I nodded.

He walked over to pour himself
another cup of coffee; then perched himself on the corner of the desk in front
of me.

  I read over the statement,
made some changes, and added more information. After it was complete, I signed
it and gave it to him. “Did the Grants show up this morning?”

Carter scoffed with sarcasm. “Howard
Grant did, with his three minions?”

“Three?” I expected he’d have an
attorney with him, but three?

“Yeah,” he smirked. “He came with his
tag team, Manny, Moe and Jack.”

“Did you get anything out of him, at
all?”

“His sharks wouldn’t let him speak. I
can tell you both father and son are at the top of my suspect list, but only
because I don’t like them.”

“Do you think either one of them
could be involved with Tamara’s death?”

“Do I think they could, yes. Do I
have evidence pointing that way? You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

I shrugged. I knew he had to answer
to the higher ups in the department, so I didn’t push the issue. “Aaron’s
behavior is definitely suspicious.”

“I had to release the body, Syd,” he
said, but he wasn’t happy about it. “Apparently, Tamara’s mother gave up her
rights when Tamara came to live with the Grants. The autopsy was concluded, so
I had no choice. Howard Grant was having her cremated.”

“Cremated?” I was disgusted. “Sounds
like they want to close the door on Tamara, and get back to their life as if
she never existed?”

Carter nodded. “There was definitely
no love lost.”

“Anything of interest on the
autopsy?”

He shook his head. “You know I can’t discuss
that.”

Figures, he was back to being mum. I
didn’t know anything about medical terminology, anyway.

“Syd, I want you to be careful.
Remember what I said about the crime scene?”

I grimaced. “You mean bullets inches
away from my head? How could I forget?”

“Well then--”

“I know, I know. Be careful. Trust
me, I will.” Of course, it was difficult to be careful, when you didn’t know
what the hell was going on.

“Where’s Cody?” He inquired. “You
promised to keep him close.”

I gave him an innocent shrug. “He’s
still sleeping. He’s not much of a morning person.” I didn’t exactly lie. Cody
probably was still asleep. But the fact that he was sleeping at Jaden’s house
and not the firehouse, was not something I needed to tell Carter. Cody would
have rushed over if I would have called, but I didn’t want to interfere with
his editing. The sooner he put the teaser up on the website, the sooner we were
to getting some more paying clients, hopefully.

“Well, just make sure to keep him
close,” Carter said, and he added a stern look to let me know he meant
business.

Laney
Rogers

AGAIN, THE man was out hunting for another victim. This time
he stayed close to home. This time he had help.

Every day after school, and again on the weekends, teens
flocked like pigeons to the Sutter Beach Mall. A number of them went to work in
the retail stores and kiosks. Some would hang out at the food court, and others
shopped for the latest fads in jeans and miscellaneous gifts.

Nineteen-year-old, Laney Rogers, was a sweet and innocent
girl from the suburbs with long legs and a golden-tan. Her mother passed away
several years ago from a long bout with cancer, her father a year later from a
broken heart. Since then, Laney has been putting in long hours at a clothing
store at the mall, but had dreams of bigger things. After signing on to be an
extra for a movie that was filming nearby, she was hooked. She wanted to be
just like the actress getting all the attention on the set. In pursuit of her
goal, she applied to a school offering modeling and acting classes. Now, she
just needed money to pay the fee.

The man and woman spotted her at B.A.B.S. a popular and hip
clothing store for young men and women.

They started to watch her.

Stalk her.

On a Saturday afternoon—when the mall was crowded with
yelling kids and teens—Laney was stacking jeans onto the shelves. That’s when
the couple strolled into the store. Laney couldn’t help but notice them. They
looked like models from the cover of a Vogue Magazine. They were dressed in
designer clothes and sunglasses - the kind she always noticed on celebrities on
the cover of her favorite tabloids. An expensive brand she hoped to wear,
someday. This was the first time Laney saw them. But it wasn’t the first time
they saw Laney. They had been watching her for some time.

After browsing the store for a few minutes, the woman put on
a fake smile, and approached Laney. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, you’re
very pretty.”

Laney blushed. “Thank you.” She couldn’t believe someone like
that
had noticed her.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a unique look?”

“What do you mean?”

The man suddenly approached her from the right. “She’s hot,
isn’t she?”

The woman motioned toward Laney’s face. “Your eyes, they come
alive when you smile. And your bone structure…”

While looking her up and down in admiration, the man said, “I
think she’d be perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” Laney inquired, curious. She glanced back
and forth at them. She couldn’t help it. She was flattered by the attention.
Nobody paid that much attention to her, since…well, since her parents died.

The woman handed Laney a card. “We’re looking for potential
models to do a commercial for a major client that might be played during the
Super Bowl next year.”

Laney’s face lit up with a smile. “The Super Bowl? Really?”