Some Degree of Murder (23 page)

I pulled out a business card. “If Cody comes by, give me a call, would you?”

She looked at the card between my fingers like it was a turd. “I don’t think so. Cody wants to talk to you, he can find you.”

“Mrs. Heinz—”

She jerked her head toward the street. “Now get off of my property.”

She slammed the door.

I slipped my card in her mailbox and walked back out to the street. Before I left, I wrote down the phone number on the For Sale sign.

The front portion of the Palms Hotel was smoldering and two fire trucks stood at the ready in the background. A beautiful blonde reporter babbled silently into her microphone.

“Turn that up,” I said.

Gina reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the remote. In seconds, the volume was up.

“—engines from Fire Station One responded to this blaze. According to sources, the first alarm was received around four this morning. Three engines responded and managed to suppress the fire, but not after extensive damage had been sustained by the hotel.”

While the reporter spoke, file footage was shown of the Palms blazing away in the darkness of the morning.

“Initial statements from Assistant Fire Chief Mike Pierson were that three bodies were discovered in one of the hotel rooms.”

The face of the Assistant Fire Chief filled the screen. “At this time, the bodies have been badly burned and we are unable to determine whether they were killed by the fire.”

The blonde returned to the screen. “The names of the victims have not been determined at this time. Once the victims are identified, the names won’t be released until the families have been notified. For
Channel 5 Action News, I’m Shawna Matheson.”

Gina stopped the noise from the screen. “Is that the loose end you had to wrap up?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“I already know the answer,” she said and rolled out of bed.

Gina padded over to the table in the corner of the room and grabbed a cigarette. Still naked, she dropped into the upholstered chair and brought her knees up to her chest. She fired up her cigarette and took a pull.

“Throw me the pack and the lighter.”

Gina carefully arced the items on to the bed next to me. I shook one free, lit it and inhaled deep.

“What’s the next step?” she asked.

“I’m going back to find Rowdy.”

“
You’re going back to the house in Hillyard?”

“As soon as I get a shower.”

“Want me to go along?”

“No.”

“I can help you.”

“No, you can’t
.”

“I stitched you back up, if you don’t remember.”

“And I’m thankful for that.”

“I also let you get naked with me last night.”

“Which I’m also thankful for. But this isn’t a path you want to go down, Gina. I’ll drop you off at your house and then I’ll take care of this business.”

“How about I stay here?”

“What would you do while I’m gone?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Order room service. Watch movies.”

“If you want to wait here, I’m not going to kick you out.”

Gina took a deep drag on her cigarette and pushed the smoke out in one long exhale. She watched me, her eyes intent. “You must have loved her.” Her tone was different, jealous almost.

“Loved who?”

“Your daughter. For you to put yourself this situation, take the kind of hurting that you did and still want to go forward, she must have been very special.”

I rolled my cigarette carefully between my thumb and forefinger. “I never met her.”

“What?” Gina kicked her legs out from underneath her and ground out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

“I never met her,” I repeated.

“Then why are you doing all of this?”

I stood and walked over to the table and ground out my own cigarette. With a single step I was back at the bed and dropped onto my back. I winced with pain when my broken teeth clacked together.

Gina leaned forward in the chair with her elbows on her knees, waiting for an answer.

“She was my daughter.”

“But you never met her.”

I turned my head to her and met her eyes. “Do you believe in God?”

She smirked. “What?”

“God. Do you believe in him?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said with a small shrug.

“Have you ever seen him?”

Gina slanted her eyes at me. “It’s not the same thing.”

I turned my head back and stared at the ceiling.

Silence hung in the room for several moments before Gina spoke softly. “You can tell me, Virgil.”

I didn’t know what to tell her. I witnessed Fawn’s life through pictures sent by her mother. The only love I gave her came in the form of money I secretly sent her mother. I never heard her voice or the joy in her laugh. I wouldn’t get to see her graduate high school or get married or have children.

Had she lived I still would have never seen those things. That was the reality of our family.

Gina slipped out of her chair and climbed onto the bed. She pulled in close to me and I could feel her breath on my chest.

“It’s okay, Virgil. Y
ou don’t have to tell me. But make me one promise.”

I stroked her hair and closed my eyes. “What’s that?”

“Come back in one piece.”

I stopped down the street from the house on Asbury and saw the same maroon colored patrol car that was at the Brotherhood’s clubhouse. The white van was not in the driveway and a motorcycle stood in the middle of the front lawn.

At the front door of the red brick house, Detective John Tower was trying to talk with a woman in her early fifties. I couldn’t see her well, but could tell she was giving Tower a hard time. He tried to say something to her and she slammed the door in his face. He walked over to the motorcycle and wrote down the number on the For Sale sign.

I lowered the driver’s seat back and waited until I heard the patrol car fire up and drive by me.

Several minutes passed while I reclined. The motorcycle had been moved since I was there the first time and a For Sale sign was put out. If I had waited, Rowdy would have returned and I could have ended it before now. Hindsight is a dangerous game to start playing so I shook it free from my head.

With a quick tug, I sat the seat up straight. The neighborhood was quiet as I walked towards the house. The front lawn was yellowed, the hangover of a winter thaw.

At the door I heard the sounds of television blaring loudly in the house. The broad must have been deaf. I pounded on the door and it jerked open.

A haggard looking woman opened the door with an unlit cigarette dangling out of her mouth. She stood about five-foot five and maybe broke a hundred and ten pounds. Her eyes squinted like imaginary cigarette smoke was burning them. She wore red stretch pants and a white t-shirt which had long since yellowed. “He’s gone,” she said with a raspy voice.

“Who?”

She looked past me and searched around the neighborhood. “Your partner. He’s gone.”

I smiled and shrugged at her. “I don’t have a partner.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “You ain’t a cop?”

“I need to talk to Rowdy.”

“Why?”

I thumbed in the direction of the Harley. “About his bike.”

She eyed me for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you’re here for the bike. You want him for something else.”

“Where’s he at?”

“I didn’t tell no cop about Rowdy and I sure as hell ain’t gonna tell you.”

I put my hand on the door and felt her resistance.

My voice dropped a couple of octaves and I leaned forward into her face. “I need to come in and talk to you about Rowdy.”

She stabbed her finger in my chest. “You come in and I’ll call the cops.”

“Now you like the police?”

“What?”

I snapped an uppercut punch into her stomach, doubling her up and causing her to let go of the door. With a quick step I was inside the house with the front door closed behind me.

“You mother—,” she gasped.

I smacked her hard across the face and spun her completely around. She fell in a heap. I helped her to her knees as she still cradled her stomach.

“What’s your name?”

“Marion,” she whispered.

“Do you know what I’m good at, Marion?”

She shook her head.

“Hurting people. I’m really good at that. Do you believe me?”

She nodded as trickle of blood ran from her lip.

“Where is Rowdy?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“That’s not an answer I can use, Marion.”

Her eyes widened as she realized the situation her son had gotten her into.

“Does
Rowdy have any friends?”

“I don’t know.”

My hand cracked against the side of her face and lifted her from her knees. She tried to scramble up, but I caught her by the throat and shoved her against the wall.

My face was inches from her ear. “Do you remember what my talent is, Marion?”

She nodded frantically.

“Who is Rowdy’s friend?”

“B-B-Brian,” she stammered out.

“Brian what?”

“Brian, oh god, I dunno.” She closed her eyes shut hard and waited for a blow to come.

I squeezed my hand around her neck to get her to open her eyes up.

“Where does Brian live?”

Tears flowed down her face.

“Where does Brian live?” I slowly repeated for her.

“I can’t. He’s my baby.”

I punched her hard in the ribs. Marion screamed for a moment before I covered her mouth with my free hand.

“If you scream, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, panic-stricken. Tears streamed down her cheeks and over my hand.

“Where does Brian live?”

I lifted the hand over her mouth. “Over on West Fairmont. Something like 3124.”

“Something like 3124 or definitely 3124?”

“I dunno, it’s on the refrigerator.” She pointed into the kitchen.

Still holding Marion by the neck, I walked her into the kitchen and over to the refrigerator. On the avocado green unit were papers and magnets everywhere. Photographs were interspersed with the papers.

“Where’s the address?” I asked with a shake of her throat.

She pointed to a ragged piece of paper.

“You were right, Marion. 3124. Good memory.”

I saw a picture of Rowdy and another long-haired kid. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Brian.”

I stared at the picture for a moment and squeezed around Marion’s throat. Her hands grasped at my hand.

“Do you want to live, Marion?”

She nodded with tears streaming down her red face.

“Do you have any rope?”

After tying up Marion in the basement, I checked out the house and found Rowdy’s room in the back corner. Hung on the walls were pictures of heavy metal bands, a rebel flag and pictures of his BSC brothers. Dirty clothes were strewn about the room and the bed hadn’t been made.

In the living room, I found the keys to Rowdy’s Harley, which were on a Playboy key ring.

I placed a phone call to the Davenport and asked for my room. Gina answered on the second ring.

“Don’t say anything,” I said quickly.

She waited quietly.

“Pick up your car at the first house you told me about. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“The keys will be under the seat and the doors unlocked.”

“Okay.”

I hung up the phone and walked out to Rowdy’s bike. It took me a couple of kicks but I got it running. I drove it over to Gina’s car and left the keys in it.

“What can you do with it?” I asked Adam.

He looked at the number I handed him, his brow furrowing. “Well, first off, it’s a cell phone.
That’s the bad news. The good news is that maybe it’s in our records somewhere.”

I frowned. “That’d be great, but…”

“All it takes is for the owner to have ever given it just once to any cop in the county and it’ll be in here.”

“Like I said, it’d be great, but…”

“Huh. No record found.” Adam glanced up at me. “That’s all right. We’ll just have to get into some technical wizardry.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Adam typed furiously at his keyboard. I looked around the small room. Tucked away in the basement of the police station, the Special Services Unit had all the gadgetry necessary to run a modern day police department. Surveillance, video recovery, computer encryption, you name it. Adam was a police officer for four years, but when this civilian position came open, he resigned from RCPD and took the job. Rumor was that he made even more than top rate patrol pay. He was probably worth it, too, though I knew that most of the time his work consisted of trying to clean up video surveillance tapes from convenience store robberies or department store shoplifters. It was a waste of talent.

“The key is going to be keeping him talking,” Adam told me, sliding across the room in his chair to a small bank of equipment that I didn’t recognize.

“Huh?”

“Whoever answers the phone. You have to keep them talking as long as possible.”

I watched him flip a couple of switches and make adjustments to the equipment. It reminded me of the engine room in the old Star Trek series. “I see.”

Adam looked over at me. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t. How are you going to trace a cell phone?”

Adam smiled and slid back over to the computer. “All cell phones operate off of cell towers. I can narrow down which tower in about ten seconds.”

“That fast?”

He nodded. “
That’s the easy part. Each tower covers a certain geographical area. I establish that as my search region, then use the other cell towers to begin to triangulate the location of the cell signal.” He pointed to a separate screen. “Then I just overlay the signal result onto a satellite map of the area that’s in the same resolution and I can give you the address the call is coming from. As long as he’s not mobile, anyway.”

“How long does that take?”

“A minute. Maybe longer.”

“I don’t know if I can keep him talking for a minute.”

“You don’t know for sure it’s his number, though, right? I mean, it’s not listed to him or to anyone in our records. It’d take you weeks and a subpoena to figure out which cell company the number belongs to.”

“Don’t offer an encouraging word or anything, Adam.”

“Let me ask you something. For your case, does it matter how you locate the guy?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is how you found him ever going to get into court?”

“I don’t think so. Not as a material issue, anyway. Why?”

Adam took a deep breath and leaned forward. “If it isn’t an issue, I can hook us up with some help on this triangulation. But it can’t be known to anyone else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just promise me that this issue will never come up,”

“I promise. We found him with your equipment. Nothing more. Or would an anonymous tip be better?”

“No. Just no mention of anything beyond my civilian-made police equipment.”

Adam went to work, typing furiously again.
After a few moments, he picked up a cell phone and dialed, then resumed typing.

“Grant?” he said. “Adam. Go secure.”

Adam stopped typing briefly, bringing his cell phone from his ear and pressing a button.

He put the phone back to his
ear and resumed hitting keys. “Back? Okay, good. Listen, I’d like to run a triangulation test. Yeah, homeland security cooperation. Can you give me your towers?” He glanced over at me and nodded. “Good. Okay, I got ya. Seven minute window. Thanks, Grant.”

Adam hung up. “Are you ready to violate the Patriot Act?”

“Don’t say that.”

He grinned and handed me his phone, then hit a few more keys on the keyboard. “Go ahead and dial the number but don’t hit send. We have to wait for the connection to go green – oh, there it is. Never mind, go ahead and dial.”

I dialed the number and hit send. I could hear the digital ring in my ear.

“Yeah?”

It didn’t sound like Rowdy, but I didn’t take any chances. “Hi. I was calling about the Harley?”

“Harley? Oh, Rowdy’s bike. Yeah. Well, I’m not sure where he’s at. You want me to take
your number or sumpin’?”

Adam made stretching motions to me with his hands and pointed to his watch.

“Well, sure,” I said, “but maybe you can tell me something about the bike.”

“Whattaya want to know?”

“It looked like it was in good shape.”

“I s’pose so.”

“What’s he asking for it?”

“I think all he said was best offer.”

“Well,” I said, “that doesn’t help out much.”

“Sorry.”

Adam nodded and tapped his watch.

“It’s just that if a guy’s going to sell a motorcycle, you think he’d have an idea what he wants for it. Maybe a starting place or something.”

“Don’t know what to tell ya. Say ten grand for starters, how’s that?”

“Steep,” I said.

“No shit,” he said. “You know hogs?”

“Not really
.”

“You just some yuppie wanting to look like the guy in the commercial, then?”

“I just want to get out and ride. And I want to buy American.”

“All right, man.
You can’t go wrong with a Harley. Best motorcycle ever made.”

“You own one?”

“’Course. Mine’s a little older than Rowdy’s, but he’s got connections.”

“Connections?”

“Never mind. You want to test drive the hog?”

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

“Awright, well, I’m busy today, but I can meet you tomorrow. Say around two?”

“Okay. Where?”

“At his mom’s house, man. Where the hog is. Where the hell did you think?”

Adam tapped his watch furiously and made fevered stretching motions with his hands.

“Yeah, of course. I’m just excited. It’s my first motorcycle. Hey, what’s your name?”

“Brian.”

“Brian, I’m John. I have a question for you.”

“What? Hurry up, though, my show’s coming on.”

“Do I need a helmet?”

“Yeah. Unless you like hundred dollar tickets from the cops.”

“No, I know it’s the law and all. I just meant tomorrow. Do I need a helmet for a test ride?”

Adam’s face broke into a huge smile and he flashed me a thumbs up sign. “Got him,” he mouthed.

“I’ll bring mine over,” Brian said. “You can use it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Yeah. Anyway, gotta go. My show’s on.”

He hung up.

I handed the phone back to Adam, whose entire face was one giant grin. He handed me the address he’d written down. “We got him. Do you know how awesome that is?”

“Thanks,” I told him.

“Thanks? John, this was an awesome feat of technology.”

“Awesome and illegal,” I reminded him, clapping him on the shoulder as I left the room.