What the River Knows (17 page)

“Scott.” Rica’s voice was soft, her eyes serious. “Do you ever think about changing jobs?”

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “What else would I do?” He honestly had never considered it once he decided to make law enforcement his life’s work. “I’m good at it.”

“But, Scott, the cost…”

He stared at her; he had failed to make her understand what he tried to convey. “I’d better get showered and get back into the station.”

She reached out to touch his arm. “Be careful out there, Scott.” Finally, she stepped toward him to hug him. “I love you, Scott.”

He started to kiss her, but she slipped out of his arms and bent over the carpet again. “And the gang wants to meet at the Club again next week.” Her face turned toward him, but he had the feeling she didn’t really see him. “That was fun, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, fun,” he mumbled as he headed to the shower. It had been a load of fun for Mrs. Nice and Amy Erikson.

Chapter 34

Sunday and Monday brought more hours sifting evidence and follow up talks with witnesses. Scott viewed that video at least twenty times. Street officers stepped up patrols of convenience stores, stopping by for historic quantities of coffee and donuts, in an effort to both thwart further robberies and in hopes of catching a glimpse of one of the killers. Finally, late Tuesday morning, one of the fingerprints on the freezer matched to an individual in IAFIS, last known address, 312 ½ East Avenue B. Street officers recalled him as a suspect in several purse snatchings and a few burglaries.

“Neighborhood sounds about right.” Bates sipped at the coffee in his cup before pitching the remainder in the trash. As soon as the info came in, KBI and the PD Captains had put in for a warrant. When the unmarked unit spotted the suspect going into his apartment, they alerted the SWAT team and called in off-duty officers.

Scott double-checked his spare magazine as they headed to the conference room at 1:30. Horton stood at the front of the room. Fleming leaned against the wall, her arms folded. A mug shot of a surly youth with dirty blond hair in dreadlocks glared at them as they entered the room. Next, a photo of the suspect’s apartment house loomed on the screen.

“He lives in this back basement apartment.” Horton moved the mouse to point to a stairway leading down a narrow cement cut toward a door with peeling paint. A railing made of welded pipe surrounded the stairway. A set of closed mini blinds, some of them broken, covered the only visible window. Scott knew the house; he had backed up detectives on more than a few drug busts and warrant arrests there during his years in uniform. Apartments in the house were cheap, rented by the week, and the landlord did no background check. And the stairways were always lousy for approach. “The unmarked on the street indicates he went inside an hour ago and hasn’t come out.” He glanced around the room. “Judge is issuing the warrant for the arrest and search now.”

Captain Black moved, stepped to the other side of the projector screen, and began assigning positions for the take-down. Scott’s mind visualized the routes others would take as he waited for his own path. Finally, “Aylward and Bates, you go in as back-up to KBI.”

Scott and Bates locked eyes. That meant that they got none of the glory if it went down as planned and all the blame if it didn’t. He shrugged. He didn’t care either way, as long as they took murderers off the street.

“Let’s roll,” Black said. Horton shot him a look, and silently slipped into his ballistics vest, prominently marked “KBI” front and back.

None too eager to don the heavy vests in ninety degree temperatures, Scott and Bates carried their vests to their car, settling them on just before they got inside. Lights flashing, but silent, a caravan of vehicles descended on all sides of Avenue B. Officers moved into position, waiting for KBI to make the first move.

Horton and Fleming approached the stairway to 312 ½. Leaves from last fall still littered the concrete. Fleming pressed her back against the wall at the top of the stairs, Bates beside her, and Scott at the corner of the wall immediately above the door. Horton walked quietly to the door. The stairway was so narrow, the door so close to the window, that there was no place for him to position himself except for squarely in front of the door. Though his stance spoke confidence, Scott could see the sweat trickling from under the cap and down his back. With a final glance at Fleming, Horton rapped on the door. Peeling paint bounced off it, but there was no other response. Scott saw Horton’s shoulders square with a deep breath. He rapped again. “Thomas James, this is the KBI. We have a warrant for your arrest.”

Scott saw Fleming speak into the mic at her lapel. Then she nodded to Horton. “Unmarked confirms he’s still in there,” she said in a tone so low Scott could barely hear her.

Just as there was no room for backup behind him, there was also no room for a ram to break down the door. Horton braced himself and kicked the door near the lock. With his second kick, the lock gave way.

Scott lowered himself to a squat and drew his Glock. From his vantage point, he could see inside the apartment over Horton’s shoulder. Horton drew his gun as well. “Thomas James, this is the KBI,” he repeated. “We have a warrant for your arrest, and we are coming in.”

Ducking as low as she could go to get under the window, Fleming moved down the stairs as Horton stepped into the apartment, Bates an arm’s length behind her. Scott covered the doorway from his position. He lost sight of Horton, and then Fleming disappeared inside. Bates reached the bottom of the stairs.

Suddenly, a skinny kid in a wife-beater, baggy board shorts, and no shoes burst from the apartment. Bates went down as the kid caught him in the gut with a shoulder. Scott holstered his gun and yelled, “Stop, police!” Around him, he could see other officers aim their weapons.

The kid took the stairs in two steps, but Scott tackled him just as his foot touched the sidewalk at the top of the stairs. The kid’s head bounced off the wall before he went down on the concrete. Scott pushed himself upright enough to jam a knee in the kid’s shoulder blades. He pulled the kid’s right arm back and slipped on the handcuffs. By the time he got hold of the left arm, Bates and Fleming stood beside him. “Thomas James,” Scott gasped. “You are under arrest.” Coach would have been proud of that tackle.

Scott stood up and grabbed the kid’s right arm. Bates grasped his left, and together they stood the suspect up. “You have the right to remain silent,” Scott began, while Bates patted the suspect down quickly. The wife beater and shorts left few places to hide weapons. A gun stuffed in the baggy shorts the kid belted down around his ass would have pulled them off. Scott had almost finished the rest of Miranda when the kid started to talk.

“My name’s Aaron Anderson,” the kid stated. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

Horton, missing his cap and rubbing his head, made it to the top of the stairs. “Son of a bitch hit me with a chair.” Fleming appeared behind Horton. “And knocked Fleming down.”

“There you go.” Bates nodded. “You did, too, do something. Assault on three police officers.”

“How was I to know who was bustin’ in my door?” The kid’s face twitched in a nervous imitation of a smile. Scott caught sight of rotten teeth, a good indicator the kid used meth on a regular basis.

Horton stood in front of the kid, studying him. “Because we identified ourselves as KBI officers.”

“I was takin’ a nap.” The kid could hardly hold still, fidgeting even with the handcuffs on. “And my name ain’t James.”

“You got ID that proves it?” Scott glanced down to see nothing in the pockets to indicate the bulge of a wallet.

The kid nodded. “Wallet on the table by the door.”

“I’ll get it.” Fleming practically flew down the stairs and returned moments later with the wallet in her left hand and a driver’s license in the other. She looked hard at the DL and even harder at the kid. “He’s not James.”

Horton folded his arms, as though thinking. Scott suppressed a smile. He knew that the judge would probably throw out the charges, but he hoped Anderson didn’t know that. If they leaned on him a bit, made him think he could do life for accessory to murder, he’d probably tell them anything he knew. Or thought they wanted to hear. “Yes, but now we’ve got him on assault.”

“Yeah,” Bates inserted. “Three officers. Maybe four.” He glanced at Scott. “He hit you, Scott?”

Scott nodded. “He hit my knee with his back, when he failed to obey the lawful order of a police officer.”

The kid danced around like a racehorse anxious for the post. “How was I to know you was cops?” He looked at Bates. “I was sleepin’ real good, hard, when all of a sudden my door busts open, and big guys with guns is runnin’ into my house.” He tried to hold still. “You’d ’ve run, too.”

“I wouldn’t be giving ‘big guys with guns’ reason to bust down my door.” Bates moved into the kid’s space, his face inches from the kid’s. “And one of those ‘guys’ was a lady.”

The kid glanced at Fleming. “Sorry, ma’am.” The kid looked down at the ground. His mouth opened and closed, and for a moment, Scott thought he was going to cry. Then he shivered. “What’d this James guy do?”

Horton moved even closer to the kid than Bates. “You know him?”

The kid squinted up at Horton and tried to step back, but Scott’s body behind him kept him in place. “Might, but maybe not by name.” He glanced at Bates, then back at Horton’s chin. “Know a lot of dudes by sight.”

“Hmmm.” Horton turned away from the kid and looked at Fleming. “Well, we have a warrant to search the apartment, doesn’t matter that James wasn’t there.”

“Warrant?” The kid practically swallowed his tongue. “Whatcha need a warrant for? Whatcha lookin’ for?”

Horton swung back toward the kid. “Evidence in a murder.”

“M-m-murder?” Eyes wide, the kid tried to turn toward Scott. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no murder, man.”

Horton leaned in just a little. “Of course, if we find evidence of any crime, it’s admissible under the search warrant. And if you do know James and don’t tell us where he is, that would make you accessory to murder.” He leaned still closer. “Don’t suppose you know this, but any crime committed where a death occurs leaves anyone a party to that crime open to the death penalty.”

“D-d-death?” Scott wanted to move away from the kid, because he had the uneasy feeling that the kid would soon lose the contents of either stomach, bladder, or bowels. He didn’t want to be in range.

Horton nodded, waiting.

“James the guy used to live in this dump?” The kid jerked his head toward his apartment. Horton nodded again.

The kid wobbled toward Horton. “I ain’t never actually talked to the dude, but when I was lookin’ for a place a few days ago, friend of a friend pointed him out at a party, said he was fixin’ to move, ’cause of the heat.”

Scott gripped his arm tighter. “Heat?”

The kid looked sideways at Scott. “From the cops, man. They was tryin’ to pin some shake-downs on him. He was movin’ in with some chick, so my friend talked to some people, and I just moved in. He left a lotta stuff there, clothes and such.” He squinted at Horton again. “That help me out any?”

Horton shrugged. “It might, especially if you know the chick.” He started walking away. “But you’ll have to come downtown with us anyway, while officers search this place.”

The kid turned even paler than the pasty white he already was under the tattoos. “You still gonna search it?”

“Oh, yeah.” Horton marched off toward his car, Fleming at his heels, while Scott guided the kid toward a black and white.

Chapter 35

Charlotte clumped into the employee locker room to refresh her lipstick. She hated working weeknights, especially Tuesdays, because the place was all but dead. And the few customers who came in were families with kids, or old people looking for the half-price specials. Her wages and tips wouldn’t even cover the cost of getting ready and coming to work. “Talk about a waste of makeup,” she murmured, even as she admired her full, now rosy, lips in the mirror. “I say again, girl, you are too good for this dive.”

She sat in the hard plastic chair to rub her feet. Four-inch heels with half-inch platforms weren’t exactly her mother’s sensible shoes, especially with the amount of standing she’d had to do tonight. She stretched her legs out before her. Non-sensible or not, those hot pink heels made her calves look fabulous and gave her ankles just the right curve. She sighed and looked at the door. Too bad nothing hotter than a thirteen-year-old or an eighty-year-old would notice tonight.

As she sat there, her mind wandered back to a Friday night, about six months ago, when a group of classy women had taken a table in Charlotte’s section. She had recognized a few of them—the brunette with the chestnut highlights and the red-head with the brassy dye job. But this time, they brought a new girl, a blonde with enormous blue eyes and a sad set to her lips. Charlotte kept sneaking glances at the blonde while the others ordered. The woman seemed detached from the group, studying the menu, tapping her fingers on the table, gazing out at the room as if she really were somewhere else.

“What’ll you have, sweetie?” Charlotte had given her the brightest smile she had. Most customers couldn’t resist smiling back.

This woman simply looked at her, held her gaze for a moment, then mumbled, “Margarita.”

In the moment their eyes stayed locked, Charlotte felt a shock run all the way down to the tips of her heels. She knew this woman.

Chapter 36

Scott and Bates merely watched while Horton questioned Aaron Anderson six ways to Sunday about James, his whereabouts and associates. If Anderson knew anything, he didn’t comprehend it. By the time Horton stood up to walk out of the interrogation room, the kid had squirmed enough to have almost worn the finish off the chair, and Horton acted like he could snap a pencil in half just by looking at it. “I’ll leave you alone a few minutes to gather your thoughts,” Horton said to him as he paused at the door, then joined Fleming, Bates, and Scott in the observation room. Apparently unaware he was being taped, Anderson scratched himself and shook.

Scott watched him fidget. “He couldn’t gather his thoughts if you gave him a sheepdog to gather them with.”