Unseen (16 page)

“I’m asking you, fuckball. You’re Bill Black, right?” Vickery wasn’t looking for an answer. His eyes scanned the hospital ID hanging around Will’s neck. “Your boss says you and Dell are real tight. Thick as thieves.”

Will imagined Ray Salemi would’ve said anything to get Paul Vickery out of his office. “It’s not exclusive,” Will said. “We’ve both agreed to see other people.”

“Funny, asshole.” Vickery moved closer. “Where were you last night? You with Dell when him and his crew tried to take on my partner?”

Will had already arranged his alibi. “Ask my parole officer. He dropped in on me around midnight.”

“I’m gonna do that.” Vickery’s beady eyes narrowed even more. “Something ain’t right with you, asshole. I can feel it in my gut.”

Will avoided the obvious joke.

“You’re chest-high in this shit. I can smell it on you.” Vickery sniffed, as if to illustrate the point. “Dell’s a professional snitch. Just a matter of time before he rats you out. Why don’t you beat him to it? Tell me what happened last night and I’ll keep you outta jail.”

“Sorry I can’t help, Officer.” Again, Will tried to leave, but Vickery’s hand went to his chest, stopping him.

Vickery warned, “You got one more chance to tell me where your boyfriend is or I start taking it out on you.”

“I said I don’t—”

Vickery punched him in the face. Will saw it coming, but there wasn’t enough time to get out of the way. Will’s head swiveled. His jaw popped. He tasted blood in his mouth. Automatically, Will’s fists went up.

He had to force them back down. Vickery was Lena’s partner. Will didn’t have to think long to consider the number of stupid things he’d do if someone threatened Faith and her family.

“Come on, Buddy.” Vickery slapped Will’s face with his open palm. “You wanna hit me, Buddy?” He whistled like he was calling a dog. “Come on, boy. Come on.”

Will peeled his fingers from his palms to get them to unclench. Instead of beating the ever-loving shit out of Paul Vickery, he said, “You know there’s a security camera in here, right?”

Vickery’s eyes flicked upward to the corner. The camera was pointed straight down, its red light flashing. He seemed to be considering whether or not beating Will to death was worth losing his badge over.

Apparently not.

Vickery told Will, “This isn’t over.” He kicked the door open and stormed out with his hands fisted at his sides.

Will glanced up at the camera, which ran on a nine-volt battery and wasn’t connected to anything because the Supreme Court had ruled that employees had an expectation of privacy when they were in a locker room.

You’d think a detective would know that.

Will checked his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Vickery hadn’t done any visible damage. Will used his tongue to find the source of blood in his mouth. The inside of his cheek had cut against his teeth. He turned on the faucet and sipped some water. The wound started to sting. Will swished the water around until his spit was only slightly pink.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He used the earbud to listen to the email from Ray Salemi, his helpful boss. Will read the words along with the tinny computer voice. He gathered Faith had found a way to get him and Lena in the same room together.

There was a leaking pipe in the ICU. Will had been assigned to fix it.

Will took the north
stairwell up to the fifth floor. The going wasn’t easy. His toolbox got heavier with each step. His body kept reminding him that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before. Will normally tried to run a few miles every day, but Bill Black’s life didn’t allow for such luxuries. By the third-floor landing, Will’s arm was shaking. Level four brought shooting pains into his lower back. He set the toolbox down and used his bandanna to wipe the sweat off his face.

“Hey.”

He looked up. Faith was leaning over the railing.

She looked down the open stairwell, making sure they were alone before asking, “Did you come up from the basement?”

He grabbed his toolbox and started climbing again. “The elevator opens up across from the waiting room, which is by the other set of stairs.”

“Why didn’t you take the elevator to the fourth floor and go up from there?”

Will watched a drop of sweat roll down his nose and splash onto the concrete steps.

“Will?”

He rounded the landing. Faith had that smile on her face that said she realized he was stupid but was being kind enough not to verbalize the observation. “I’ve been checking all the doors for the last fifteen minutes.”

He asked, “Did you break a pipe or just pretend it’s broken?”

“Water pistol. You’ll see.” She nodded toward the next flight of stairs. “Think you can make it?”

Faith took the steps two at a time. She had changed into her regs—black sneakers, tan cargo pants, and a long-sleeved blue polo shirt with the letters
GBI
written in bright yellow across the back. Her blonde hair was tucked into a matching blue ballcap with the same logo. Her Glock was strapped to her thigh.

Will dropped his toolbox by the door to the ICU. He looked through the skinny window into the ward. One nurse was behind the desk. The cop who was guarding Jared Long’s room was so young he looked as if he was wrapped in plastic. Will had investigated cop shootings before. If Macon was like any other force on the planet, all the seasoned cops were out banging down doors and threatening sources.

Will headed up the stairs after Faith. The climb was remarkably easy without the added weight.

He pushed open the metal door. His eyes watered from the sudden sunlight. The rain clouds had receded, opening up a bright blue sky. Will gathered from the discarded cigarette butts in the pea gravel that the staff was familiar with the roof exit. He scanned the medical complex. The five-story hospital building was at the center. Two lower buildings flanked each side. Doctors rented the spaces. From what Will gathered, there were lots of baby doctors on hand. He’d been to the birthing suites a few times. They were more like hotel rooms. Most of Macon’s industrial parks and factories had shut down during the recession, but Maconites were still making babies.

“Over here,” Faith called.

There was a shed covering the exit door. Faith had walked around the back so no one could surprise them.

Will asked, “Sara?”

“She went shopping with Nell. Jared’s mother. She wants to clean the house.”

“The crime scene house?”

“That’s the one.”

Will felt his brow furrow. He couldn’t imagine Sara thought that was a good idea.

Faith said, “I’ll head over to the house later to make sure she’s all right.” She squinted at the name on his shirt. “Buddy?”

“It belonged to the last guy,” Will lied. “I talked to Tony Dell this morning.”

“And?”

“It’s like we thought. Zachary and Lawrence found him at Tipsie’s, said they needed a couple of men for a job.”

“Tony knew them?”

“He says no, that he’s just seen them around the bar. I believe him maybe ninety percent. They hang out in the back with the other rednecks in charge. Way above Tony’s pay grade.”

Faith pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket and slid them on. “I verified what Branson told us this morning. She wasn’t lying about the shooters. They’re mid-level thugs. Nothing this violent in their histories. Certainly not murder for hire.”

“What’s the prognosis on Fred Zachary, the second shooter?”

“Don’t ask me. I can’t get near him. His lawyer’s set up shop in his hospital room. Won’t leave his side.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“The guy’s part of a fancy firm out of Savannah. Vanhorn and Gresham. They just opened up offices in Macon.” She glanced over to make sure he was following. “It’s the same M.O. as Sarasota and Hilton Head. Big Whitey moves in, he organizes the local scumbags, he gives them fancy lawyers, and he takes out any cops who get in his way.”

Will asked, “Anything off the cell towers?”

“Lena got a text from Paul Vickery around eleven-fifty. Nothing big, just checking if she’s okay. Fifteen minutes later, Long got a blocked call we’re trying to trace. Might take until tomorrow.”

“Fifteen minutes later?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes before the attack.”

Will stared out at the view, which was a depressing mix of interstate and strip malls. “Could be one of Jared’s buddies just calling to check in.”

“Could be.”

“Have you talked to Lena’s team?”

“What’s left of it. DeShawn Franklin seems to think this is no big deal. Paul Vickery is a dick.”

Will ran his hand along his jaw. “He’s upset about his partner almost being murdered. He was here looking for Tony Dell this morning.”

“Did he find him?”

“If Tony gets the crap beaten out of him, then we’ll know he did.”

“Vickery struck me as that kind of guy,” Faith admitted. “Very self-righteous about me wasting his time when he could be out looking for whoever put out the hit on Lena and Jared.”

Will said, “Vickery thinks Bill Black is involved.”

“I’d probably make the same assumption. Black’s a con with a violent history. Dell’s car was at the crime scene. They both work at the same place.”

“My boss told Vickery that Tony Dell and Bill Black are good friends.”

“Nice. How’s that target feel on your back?”

“Stabby,” Will admitted. He’d have to be very careful around Vickery if he ever had the bad fortune to cross paths with him again. “What’s the police station like?”

“They’re all helpful on the surface, but the minute you start to pull at a string, they cut you off.”

“What strings?”

“Incident reports. Daily briefings. They’re not good at producing paperwork, which is odd for a police station.”

Will noted, “It’s been my impression that police officers have to write everything down.”

“Mine, too. Maybe we should go work for Macon.” She leaned back against the shed. “Chief Gray runs a tight ship, but he’s got the press on his back—both Macon and Atlanta—plus there’s talk someone saw a CNN truck heading down 75.”

“Great,” Will mumbled. He’d seldom worked a case where the media made things better.

Faith said, “Gray has every able-bodied cop pounding the streets, including himself. You gotta hand it to the old guy. He’s got his sleeves rolled up just like everybody else. The downside is that Branson’s got the whole station to herself. Her and Paul Vickery. I get the feeling DeShawn Franklin’s heart isn’t in it. He was handpicked by Chief Gray when he took over the force a few years ago. His loyalties have to be torn.”

“You think he’ll flip?”

“Not unless he’s caught in bed with a dead woman or a live boy.” Faith blew out a puff of air. He could tell she was frustrated. “I ran Jared and Lena’s credit, checked their accounts. They pass the smell test. Lena’s Celica is paid off, his truck’s a year out. Low balance on their credit cards. There’s a couple of thou left on Jared’s student loans. Another thou in savings. No big trips or lake houses. They’re a little upside down on their mortgage, but who isn’t?”

“What about their cases?”

“We’re covered up with cases. Jared was trying to win some kind of contest to write the most tickets. Lena’s got a stack of arrests this big.” Faith held her hands a foot apart. “I’ve got four loaners from the field office looking to kill me for drowning them in paperwork. They’re gonna be working eighteen-hour shifts.”

“It’s easier to treat them badly if you don’t know their names.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Faith said. “First thing I asked for was
the case file on that shooting-gallery raid you read about in the newspaper.”

Will assumed she was drawing this out for a reason. “And?”

“IA has all the files. Every single scrap.”

Internal Affairs. “That makes sense. Two cops were hurt during the raid.”

“Keith McVale and Mitch Cabello. Don’t be impressed. I only found out their names because I checked the duty roster.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“One’s in Florida spending his disability and the other checked himself out of the hospital this morning. He’s not answering my calls and he’s not at home.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and swiped the screen a few times before showing some photos to Will. “DeShawn Franklin. Mitch Cabello. Keith McVale.”

Except for skin color, there was a sameness to all the men—square-jawed, clean-cut. The same as Paul Vickery. They were more like a military unit than a detective squad.

Faith said, “There’s a third guy who took off around the same time. Another detective.” She held up the phone so Will could see his photo. “I don’t know how he’s connected, but Eric Haigh applied for administrative leave the day of the raid.”

Will scanned the image, which was more of the same. He guessed, “Unavailable?”

“He won’t even answer his phone.” Faith said, “It’s déjà vu all over again.”

Will knew what she meant. The police forces in Hilton Head and Savannah had both seen an uptick of early retirements and transfer requests the minute Big Whitey started throwing his weight around.

He said, “It’s the same strategy Whitey uses with the dealers. You kill or hurt one cop, it’s easier to get the rest of them to either fall in line or fall away.”

“And then Big Whitey corners the drug market.” Faith changed
the subject. “I was so desperate this morning I even tracked down your newspaper stories.” She scrolled to the Web browser on her phone. The
Macon Chronicle-Herald
blotter was already pulled up. “We know about the shooting-gallery raid—at least that it happened. The two runaways were party girls; they straggled home the next afternoon. The school pot bust was a known offender who will be heading to rehab for his billionth time. The guy on the toilet had a heart attack. He was described as a forty-three-year-old entrepreneur.” Faith looked back up at Will. “I wish I was better at making puns.”

“It’ll come to you.”

She chuckled good-naturedly. “The raid has to be the flashpoint. I hate to admit this, but Denise Branson is good. She’s got me completely rope-a-doped.”

Will had worked these kinds of cases before. He saved Faith the explanation. “Internal Affairs won’t release any paperwork on the shooting-gallery raid until they reach a decision. They can’t legally discuss the details because the reputation of an officer or officers is at stake, or because there’s possibly going to be a lawsuit. There’s a gag order on everyone involved, and even without that, no one will talk to you because you’re the bad lady from the state who’s sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”