Lethal Confessions (41 page)

Tabarnak
. What the hell else was in Garneau’s background?

“Where did you meet Garneau for the exchange?”

“He always came to my apartment.”

“Did he say anything about where he lived, or worked? Or gave you any other personal information?”

“No, but he wouldn’t, would he?” he said with a snort. “He’s not a stupid man, Detective.”

Amy felt like snapping her pencil in half. “Did you ever see him other than at your apartment?”

Kozak inhaled deeply again. “I saw him at a baseball game.”

Chairs shifted and somebody murmured, maybe Knight.

“At St. Lucie Stadium?”

“Yeah. I went to a game there at the beginning of the season. The Mets and the Cardinals. I got a really good seat, maybe ten rows behind the visitors’ dugout. I had a good view into the Mets’ dugout from where I was sitting, and I was sure I saw Joey Garneau in uniform there.”

Amy frowned. “He’s a Mets player?”

“Hell, no. It wasn’t a regular team uniform—more like baseball pants and a team tee shirt. So, I thought maybe he was a trainer. I wasn’t even positive it was him, but it gave me the creeps. Scared me a little, even. So, I went back again the next day, and got there early so I could watch batting practice. Then I knew it was Garneau. He was on the field, handling the players’ equipment. He obviously worked for the team.”

Thursday, August 5

3:30 p.m.

Not a player. A team employee. An equipment guy. No wonder they’d been coming up empty on the player angle. Amy mentally cursed, and she imagined the other detectives around the table were doing the same. But there would be plenty of time for self-recriminations. Right now they had to find Joey Garneau.

“Did Garneau see you at the ballpark, too?” she asked Kozak. “Is that why he contacted you?”

Kozak let out an unhappy sigh. “No. When I got out of prison, I kept in touch with a guy who was still in there. A nice kid named Kenny Mallory. I’d visit Kenny a couple of times a month, sometimes more. I’d tell him how I was doing in school, shit like that. He wanted to hear about everything I was doing. Said he was going to do just like me after he got out. After I got my pharmacy diploma and moved down here, I still kept in touch with Kenny.”

“And Kenny obviously told Garneau,” Amy said.

“Kenny was happy for me. He probably told all kinds of people. But Garneau remembered that he’d said I was a pharmacy tech, and that I was living in Stuart. So, he found me, and the rest is history,” he finished bitterly.

A history of vicious murder
.

“So, you ran off to Montana to avoid theft charges after the hospital fired you?”

Kozak nodded. “I knew the cops would be after me once the hospital figured it out. But I didn’t think they’d track me to Montana. Not until I started reading about the murders on the Internet.”

Amy saw Poushinsky clench his fists, and she felt like punching Kozak herself. “So, you just sat there like a mouse in Billings, knowing Garneau was back here slaughtering young women with your drugs.”

Any slight twinge of sympathy Amy might have felt for him had vanished. Kozak was a coward, and she wished like hell she could toss him in a cell and leave him there until he rotted.

Kozak hung his head.

“I’m done with this slime for now,” she said, sickened at the sight of Kozak and anxious to get onto Garneau’s trail. “Anyone else?”

When Foreman began to probe for further details about the drug thefts and the dealer who had bought the narcotics, Amy, Poushinsky, and Knight quickly excused themselves.

The three of them rushed up the stairs onto the Floor. Now they knew the killer’s name, and they knew where he worked. And in a matter of minutes, they’d know where he lived, too.

The end game was on.

Alicia was definitely improving. As soon as Luke entered her room, she scooted up higher in the bed and reached behind to rearrange her pillows. Carefully, she propped Pudge up next to her.

“Hey there, kiddo,” Luke said, holding one hand behind his back. One of the nurses had just told him that Alicia’s new medication regime had been a success, and he could definitely see the difference since the last time he saw the girl.

Alicia gave him a sunburst smile. “Hi, Luke!” But then she knitted her brows as she noticed his half-hearted attempt at concealment. “You’re hiding something behind your back!”

“I can’t sneak anything by you, can I?”

“Well, you really didn’t try very hard,” she said. “What is it? Show me!”

“I figure you can never have too many stuffed animals, can you? Or am I wrong?” Luke plunked a fuzzy green hippopotamus onto her lap. The hippo’s bulging eyes gave him a slightly bemused look, which was why the toy had appealed to Luke in the store.

Alicia clutched the hippo around its fat tummy. “He’s really soft.” She tilted her head as she put a finger to her chin. “What do you think I should call him?”

“He’s a hippo, so maybe something starting with H,” Luke ventured. “Like Harry? Or maybe Horatio? I like Harry the Hippo, myself.”

“Me, too,” she said, nuzzling the hippo’s nose. “Thanks for Harry, Luke.”

“My pleasure, honey. You’re feeling better today, aren’t you?”

“Uh, huh. I’ve decided that having my operation next week is a very good thing. I was scared at first, but Doctor Anna and I talked about it for a long time this morning. She told me not to worry. I’m going to be okay, because I’m tough.”

Luke liked Anna Halperin’s no-nonsense style. She didn’t sugar coat Alicia’s situation, but she had a way of boosting the little girl’s confidence. “You know the first thing we’re going to do when you get out of the hospital?”

“Go to a baseball game?” Alicia said hopefully.

“Yep. Actually, I was thinking of a couple of days at Disney World, with maybe a side trip to Tampa to catch a Rays’ game. Whenever Doctor Anna says it’s okay. How’s that sound?”

After a shriek of excitement, Alicia frowned with what looked like worry. “But I’ll be going to another foster home. And I don’t know if I could get permission.”

Luke sat on the edge of her bed, then clasped her hand. “I need to talk to you about that.”

Alicia sat up straight and tucked her legs under her. She held the stuffed hippo against her cheek, her wide-eyed gaze expectant and full of trust. That innocent trust had Luke swallowing the lump in his throat. Man, he was nervous. More nervous than he could ever recall.

“Well, I don’t know how to say this without sounding kind of dopey, so I’d better just get it out quick. I love you, sweetie. A whole lot. I don’t know what kind of a dad I would make, but if you’d like to come live with me, and if the state approves the adoption, I’d like nothing better than for you to be my daughter.”

Alicia’s mouth hung open. “You want to adopt me?” she whispered, her eyes huge and round.

Luke nodded, struggling not to choke on the emotion. “If they’ll let me, and I’m pretty sure they will. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

She looked like he’d handed her the moon, but then she began to cry. Luke shifted forward and wrapped his arms around her frail little body.

“But what if I—”

“Hush, kiddo. I’ll be your dad, no matter what.”

Stroking her soft brown hair, he let the little girl sob in his arms, feeling both the weight and the joy of profound responsibility. But somehow he was sure everything would all work out right.

Thursday, August 5

4:20 p.m.

“The St. Lucie Mets are still in Jupiter, scheduled to play the Hammerheads at Roger Dean,” Poushinsky said, checking the Mets’ web site as Amy dialed the team office. Seconds later, she had Kirk McNamara, the St. Lucie general manager, on the line.

“Mr. McNamara, does your team employ an equipment manager named Joey Garneau?”

“No, we don’t,” he said. “What’s this about, Detective?”

Amy figured Garneau might be using another name. “We’re asking in connection with the murders of three women in the Jupiter area. I’m sure you’re aware of the case.”

“Of course.”

“I’d like you to give me the names of your staff who handle equipment, sir.”

“You think somebody from our team is involved?” He sounded incredulous.

“Possibly.”

McNamara sighed. “Our equipment manager’s name is Jason Gardner. We also have a part-time assistant who works when the team’s at home. His name’s Kerwin Revere. Then, there’s our trainer, Chuck Figgins. He helps with the equipment, too.”

Jason Gardner.
Joey Garneau
. Amy gave Poushinsky a thumbs up. “How long has Jason Gardner been with the team?”

“I hired him last fall, at the end of October. I remember because the World Series had ended the previous night. Jason didn’t have a lot of experience, but he had a great reference from the GM for the Portland Double A team. He’s an old friend of mine.”

“Portland, Maine?”

“That’s right. Initially, I didn’t get why Jason would want to sign on with a Single A team at lower pay. But he said he needed to move to Florida to be near his sister. She’s got cancer.”

“Do you recall how long he worked for the Portland team?”

“As assistant equipment manager, I think it was one season, plus a few months before the season started. But before that he worked as a groundskeeper at the ball park.”

“Did he admit to having a prison record?”

Silence for three or four seconds. “Yes,” McNamara finally said. “But it was for some stuff he got into as a youngster. My friend told me he hadn’t worried about it when he hired Jason, and I shouldn’t, either.”

Amy agreed that it was sometimes good to give a screwed-up kid a break. Not this time. “Is Gardner with the team now, in Jupiter?”

“Of course.”

“Where are they staying?”

“The Comfort Inn and Suites.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. McNamara. Please don’t mention our conversation to anyone on the team. I repeat—no one. We’ll be picking up Gardner for questioning immediately.”

“Hold on a minute, Detective.” McNamara’s voice turned more aggressive. “This is my team and my staff you’re talking about. I’ve got a right to know what’s going on. You think Jason might have been a witness or something?”

McNamara obviously hadn’t seen the police composite.

“Let’s just say he’s a person of interest, sir. You’ll hear from me or one of our other detectives shortly. Thanks for your help.” She hung up.

Poushinsky had been hovering over her desk, listening in. “Gardner, huh? He couldn’t come up with a more creative alias than that?”

“Arrogant prick,” she muttered as she entered the name of the hotel in her computer’s search engine. Ten seconds later, she pushed back her chair and bolted up. “Comfort Inn and Suites, Indiantown Road. Get Ryan and Washington and let’s roll.”

Poushinsky snapped his cell phone shut and glanced at Amy as she threaded her way through rush hour traffic.

“DMV has a lot of Jason Gardners on file,” he said. “The closest to St. Lucie Stadium would be two in St. Lucie County and one in Martin County. I got them to give me the vehicles registered to the guys in St. Lucie and Hobe Sound.”

“I’ll call McNamara back and get the address Gardner gave the team.” Not that he’d necessarily have given them an accurate one. The hotel couldn’t be more than a mile away. She’d call the GM back after they checked it out. Amy noticed Poushinsky staring at her. “What?”

“Jesus, Robitaille, you’re going to bust your teeth if you clamp your jaw any tighter.”

She shook her head, frustrated. “We shouldn’t have been so focused on the players. That was really stupid.”

“Maybe. But who the hell would have thought a minor league equipment manager would be running around the country knocking off ballplayers’ wives? With fucking lethal injection drugs, no less. What were the odds?”

“We’re supposed to think past the odds,” she snapped. “Ashley Rist and Megan O’Neill are dead because we didn’t.”

“Amy, don’t do that.”

She glanced at him, startled by the use of her first name. His eyes held a weight of understanding.

“Don’t take that kind of shit on yourself,” he said gently. “You’re not clairvoyant, and you’ve put your heart and soul into catching this guy. Nobody could have done more.”

She swerved into the hotel parking lot and slammed on the brakes. “That doesn’t make those women any less dead,” she said. But he was right. At least for now, she couldn’t let recriminations cloud her thinking.

They jumped out and jogged toward the hotel entrance. The team bus was idling near the front door, and it looked like only the driver was inside. They’d made it in time.

As the front desk clerk looked up, Amy pointed to her badge. “Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office. The St. Lucie Mets team is booked in here, correct?”

“That’s right, ma’am,” the clerk—her name badge said Samantha—replied with a worried frown.

“Samantha, we need a key card for Jason Gardner’s room. Fast, please.”

The woman punched a few keys on her computer and peered at the screen. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Gardner checked out yesterday.”

Shit.
“When, yesterday?”

The clerk glanced back down. “Nine forty-seven p.m.”

Weird hour to check out. Was he already running?

Poushinsky leaned against the counter. “Call Mr. Kiernan’s room. Hand the phone to me if he answers.”

Samantha looked up the room number and dialed the extension on her phone. “Mr. Kiernan, I have the police at the front desk. They wish to speak with you.” She handed the receiver to Poushinsky.

“We need to talk to you right now, sir. It would probably be better in your room than down here. Room three-one-six? We’re on our way.”

“The team manager, right?” Amy said as they hurried to the elevators.

“Yeah. He must know that Gardner lit out last night.”

Kiernan had cracked the door open a couple of inches. Poushinsky banged once on it and they entered. Inside, he quickly introduced himself and Amy.