Judged (25 page)

“Thanks.” I hung up.

I turned to Beth. “How far away from the station are we?” I asked.

Beth looked down at the navigation running on her phone, sitting on her lap. “Twenty minutes.”

My cell phone rang. I clicked Talk without looking at the screen.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Um, is this Agent Rawlings?” a man asked.

“It is. Who’s calling?”

“This is Officer Cabral. You saw me earlier at the home of the Ridley woman.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Well, about an hour ago, an older woman came and took both children.”

I looked through the windshield at Harrington weaving in and out of cars ahead of us. Beth did her best to stay on his tail.

“Okay, so someone came and took the kids. Just keep your eyes on the woman, I guess.”

“Well, that’s what I’m doing. She left a few minutes after the old woman left with the kids. Mrs. Ridley was wheeling two suitcases.”

I was quiet for a moment. I figured her leaving, along with her children, wasn’t out of the question if they thought they were in some kind of danger. “Just, um, give me a call back after a while and let me know where she goes. We’re kind of right in the middle of something here.”

“Well, I would if I had any idea where she’s going. I’m behind her car now, pulling into the airport,” Cabral said.

Beth glanced over at me. “Who is that?”

“One second, Cabral.” I clicked the button to mute the mouthpiece on my phone and looked at Beth. “Cabral, the cop that was at Ridley’s wife’s house is who is on the line. He says that someone picked up the kids from the house, and now he’s following Ridley’s wife into the airport.”

“Airport?”

“Correct.”

“Hmm,” Beth said. “Damn. I forgot that I said that I would call her. I’m betting someone already did, from the scene of the accident. If that’s the case, why is she getting on a plane instead of seeing what happened to her husband? Separated or not.”

“Maybe she’s scared the same fate awaits her,” I said.

“I don’t know,” Beth said. “The not questioning why Wendell thought her husband had something to do with his sister’s deaths still kind of irks me. It wasn’t a normal response.”

“I agree. And I’d like to talk to her again prior to her hopping on a plane and going who knows where.”

I clicked the button on my phone to unmute the call. “Cabral, are you still there?” I asked.

“Still here. She’s pulling into long-term parking right now. I mean, she can’t not know that I’m following her. I’m in a marked car.”

“Stop her. Ask her a couple questions. Ask her where she’s going and why. See if she knows what happened to her husband.”

“What happened to her husband?” Cabral asked.

“He’s deceased.” I heard the beep in my ear from another phone call coming in. I glanced down at the screen—Harrington calling.

“Oh, um, you want me to tell her that?” Cabral asked.

“If she doesn’t know that her husband is deceased, yes, tell her.”

“Okay, and if she still insists on getting on a plane?”

“Don’t let her. Take her back to your station. If she doesn’t cooperate, let me know.”

“Sure,” he said.

“Thanks for the call. I’ll be in touch in a little while to get an update.” I glanced down at the screen of my phone—Harrington was still calling. I swiped the screen to switch over to his call. “Yeah, Harrington.”

“I just got a call back from the Fort Lauderdale PD. Peterson and his truck aren’t there. Neither is anyone in our stolen vehicle. Officers searched the parking lot and are now expanding out. But so far, they aren’t seeing Wendell or the stolen vehicle.”

“I wonder if he followed the lieutenant from the station.”

“Possibly,” Harrington said.

“Okay. Just keep driving. Let me call back to Couch and see if he’s gotten an update yet.”

“Yup,” Harrington said.

I clicked off from the call and dialed Couch. The phone rang in my ear.

“It’s Couch,” he answered.

“Rawlings. How are we looking on those two GPS signals for the cell phones? Word back from the scene is that they’re not there.”

“I haven’t heard anything from Joe since I called to ask him for an update and gave him the new number,” Couch said. “Give me a minute. I can try calling him back.”

“Hold on. Joe from your tech department is who is tracking the numbers?”

“Yeah, Joe Payton. Same guy who found your van on the video.”

“Okay. I have his number,” I said. “Let me just call him. Probably easier than having to go back and forth.”

“Right,” Couch said.

“Thanks.” I hung up and dialed the number I had for Joe Payton. He answered right away.

“This is Joe,” he said.

“It’s Agent Hank Rawlings, working with Agent Couch. I need the locations on those two phone numbers.”

“You’ll have to give me a second here. We’re having some computer issues. We should be back up in a second.”

“Call me back at this number when you have locations for both phones,” I said.

“Will do,” Joe said.

I clicked off. “Damn.”

“What’s going on?” Beth asked.

“Nothing. No one has anything. Tech guys are calling me back when they have locations on the phones.”

“And no one can get a hold of Peterson?”

“Harrington said he couldn’t, and as far as anyone at the station, well I guess that’s a no as well.” I stared down at my phone, and then my eyes went to Peterson’s phone number on my notepad, lying in my lap. I punched it into my phone and held it to my ear.

“You’re trying to call him?” Beth asked.

“Hell, at this point, I guess it’s worth a shot.” The phone rang in my ear repeatedly—no one was answering. I took the phone from my ear, glanced at the screen, and was about to hit End when the icon on the screen told me I was connected. I figured it was the voice mail picking up and briefly debated not leaving a message but then thought a warning, even if he didn’t get it, was the prudent thing to do. I brought the phone back to my face.

“Hello?” I heard.

“Peterson?” I asked.

“This is. Who is this?”

“Agent Rawlings. Where are you?”

“I’m driving home, sitting in traffic.”

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” I said.

“Oh, I saw my voice mail light on my phone just light up a second ago. It’s been dead most of the day. I just plugged it into my truck and powered it on a second ago. What’s up?”

“Wendell killed Kenneth Ridley and stole a car. We tracked the car owner’s cell phone, which was left inside the vehicle, to the Fort Lauderdale police department.”

I got only silence from his end of the phone.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“I’m here. Do they know?”

“They know, and he’s no longer there,” I said.

“Okay. What, um… What should I do?”

I heard a beep from my phone—a call was coming from Joe Payton at the Miramar FBI office’s tech department.

“Keep driving. Don’t go home but stay on the line. I have another call here. I’ll be back with you in a second.”

“Okay,” he said.

I clicked over to Joe’s call. “Rawlings,” I said.

“Hey, we’re back up. I have locations on both cell phones. They’re right behind each other. Looks like they’re on I-595, headed west. Not really moving too fast, though.”

“Can you see how close together they are?”

“Close,” Joe said.

“All I need. Thanks.” I clicked back to Peterson.

“Peterson,” I said.

“Still here.”

“Look for a blue Ford in your rearview.”

“Car, truck?” he asked.

“Ford Focus. Small car.”

“Ah. I don’t know. I have a wall of cars behind me. I’m sitting in pretty much bumper-to-bumper traffic right now. Probably a crash or something. There’s a couple of blue ones back there.”

“Where exactly are you?” I asked.

“I’m on 595, headed west. I just went over Highway 441 a minute or two ago. Coming up on the turnpike in a second here.”

“Hold on.” I took the phone from my face and brought up its GPS. After finding where he was, I clicked the button to navigate from our location. My phone told me the drive would take twenty-five minutes with traffic. I looked to see how far away we actually were—four miles. Still ahead of us, Harrington had his lights flashing and siren going. On the phone, I spotted a possible location we could intercept Peterson and Wendell. I brought the phone back to my mouth. “Exit on highway 84 east.”

“Okay,” he said.

I continued with my instructions for Peterson as we drove.

Tim sat in the Ford, gridlocked by traffic. Peterson’s truck was seven or eight car lengths up and a lane over to the right. The car ahead of Tim moved—maybe a car length, not much more. Tim grumbled, keeping his eyes locked on the lieutenant’s truck. Then a gap in the lieutenant’s lane, behind his truck, allowed Tim to see that he had his directional on to exit the freeway.

“Shit,” Tim said.

He looked to his right—a sedan and a minivan were blocking him from getting into the lane. He clicked on his blinker and pointed the nose of the car to the right, awaiting the sedan moving forward.

“Come on,” Tim said.

Looking forward again, he saw Peterson’s truck veering to the right toward the exit lane.

He nosed his car forward though no more space had become available. The front bumper of the Ford was just inches from the back of the sedan. Tim’s front fender was blocking the minivan from coming forward. He glanced at the woman driving the minivan, who held her arms in the air, looking confused.

Tim glanced back toward Peterson’s truck—it was gone from sight.

“Son of a bitch!” Tim hit the center of the car’s steering wheel, sounding the horn.

The man driving the sedan looked back over his shoulder and shot him an annoyed look out the window.

“Let’s go! Move!” Tim shouted.

The vehicles did nothing.

Tim looked back up toward the exit and the line of cars slowly creeping forward. The truck in front of the sedan moved, and the sedan inched forward. Tim stomped the gas, shot through the right-most lane to a honk of the minivan’s horn, and pulled the wheel to the left before making contact with the metal barrier at the freeway’s shoulder. He kept the gas pedal pinned and rode the shoulder until he veered right into the exit lane. He sped to the bottom of the exit ramp, locked up the brakes at the red light, and snapped his head right to left, searching for Peterson’s truck. To Tim’s left, the lieutenant’s truck was waiting to make a right into a park and ride on the opposite side of the freeway.

“What the hell is he pulling in there for?” Tim asked.

He drummed his fingertips on the top of the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn green. He would have just run the red if there had been the slightest gap between passing cars. Tim looked down at the gun in his lap. He grabbed it with his right hand and rested it on his thigh. The passing cars slowed. Tim could see the yellow light showing for their lanes. He pulled out while the arrow was still red and floored the gas toward the entrance to the park and ride. Tim pulled into the parking lot and swiveled his head, looking for Peterson’s truck. He found it parked near the front and weaved through the parking lot so he could pull in facing him.

Tim slowed as he approached and saw Peterson sitting in his truck. The empty parking spots in front of the lieutenant were designated handicapped and were also empty. Tim didn’t pull into one of those stalls. He stopped dead in the center of the parking lot. To his left were the vacant handicap parking spots, the nose of Peterson’s truck beyond them—to his right, a glass-covered bus stop. Tim glanced over at the bus stop. A man and a woman were sitting there, waiting—the man read a paper, and the woman looked like she was doing something on her cell phone. Tim pulled his door handle and stepped from the car. He brought the gun up and advanced on Peterson.

“Get your ass out of the truck!” Tim shouted.

Harrington parked on the west side of the park and ride’s lot, opposite, and far away, from the main entrance. While his vehicle was unmarked, it still could easily be identified as law enforcement by the license plates and small antennas on the trunk lid—we wanted it out of view. Beth and I parked at the front of the lot, near the handicap parking spots, which were mostly vacant. If there was to be gunfire, I wanted the emptiest area possible.

“There he is,” Beth said.

We stood outside our car with eyes on the park and ride’s entrance.

“Can you see Wendell?” I asked.

“No.”

I brought the phone back to my mouth. “Peterson, is Wendell behind you?”

“I don’t see him,” Peterson said.

“Wait at the light to turn in. We need to make sure he sees where you’re going.”

“Got it,” Peterson said. “Actually, I think I see him at the bottom of the off-ramp back there. Small blue car, you said?”

“Correct.”

“That’s him, I’m thinking. That looks like a Ford.”

“Okay. Turn in when you get the chance. Park next to us in the front. We’re in a dark rental sedan. You’ll see us. We’re out of the car.”

“All right. What are we doing when he pulls in?”

“Leave him to us. As soon as you see him get out of his vehicle, get out of here.”

“Got it. I’m pulling in.”

“Yup.” I hung up. We waved Peterson toward us, and he headed in our direction. I pointed to where I wanted him to park, and Beth and I jogged across the parking lot. We sat down in the glass waiting area. I scooped up a newspaper left on the bench by someone else, pulled my service weapon, and used the paper to conceal it. Beth took her phone from her pocket and tapped at its blank screen.

“Do you see Wendell yet?” Beth asked.

I lifted my head and had a quick look. “Yeah, he’s rounding the corner toward us right now.”

“Okay, I have him,” Beth said.

Wendell stopped before us, directly in line between us and Peterson. I heard his gearshift click into park. He stepped from the vehicle, leaving the driver’s door open at his back. Beth and I both raised our heads.

Wendell advanced on Peterson’s truck.

I dropped the paper and lifted my weapon. Beth stuffed her phone into her pocket, stood, and pulled her gun from her holster.