Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (34 page)

"Call me if you find it and I'll send out a team," Roger said.

"Will do."

"Oh, one more thing, Jamie."

"Yeah?"

"We matched the polymers on Tim's head wound."

"What was it?"

"It's the plastic used in the bases of trophies. The company is out of Ohio—Dayton Trophy Company."

"Do you know if that's where the trophies came from the night of the awards dinner?"

"It is. I left a message for Hailey Wyatt, but I thought you'd want to know, too."

She nodded. "Yeah. This is good, Roger. Thanks."

"No problem."

Jamie hung up and dialed Hailey's line. She answered on the second ring. Jamie quickly told her about the soil sample from Marchek's boots.

"Meet at his place?" Hailey said.

"I'll be there in twenty. And you heard about the trophy?"

"Yeah. We're getting together a list of who won an award that night. I'll send it over as soon as I see it."

Jamie headed for her car. Her cheeks flushed, adrenaline rushed around her brain. For the first time in longer than she wanted to consider, Jamie felt close.

Marchek had screwed up and they were going to nail him.

Please, God. Let them nail him.

She couldn't bear the thought of him on the street one more day.

* * *

Jamie arrived at Marchek's and parked behind the patrol car they'd sent to handle surveillance. When she got out of the car and flashed her badge, the officers walked toward her.

"No sign of your guy. We've been waiting for him."

"He's not working today?"

"No. According to the store, he's off today and tomorrow."

Jamie nodded, the sick sense of dread rising in her gut. "Keep an eye out. I'm going inside."

The officers nodded and returned to their vehicle.

Jamie made her way into Marchek's place and began to look for access to the crawl space. She checked the closets and searched for any hidden doors, but there didn't appear to be any access from inside. As she came out his front door, she ran into Hailey.

"Find it?" Hailey asked.

"Not yet. There's no crawl space access from his place."

"First place we lived in San Francisco, the crawl space was just off the garbage room," Hailey suggested.

Jamie nodded. "Let's try that."

Down the hall from Marchek's front door, they found the disposal room. It was a tiny space, filled by two huge flip-top garbage bins. A metal vent hovered above one where people on the upper floors could dump their trash. It would slide down the vent and into one of the cans.

"How about that?" Hailey said.

Jamie followed her gaze. Behind one of the cans was an opening, maybe two feet wide by sixteen inches high. Hailey pulled the trash can aside and Jamie shone her flashlight into the dark hole.

"It's the crawl space, all right."

Jamie got down on her knees and climbed through the hole. On the other side, the space was large enough to stand. "You coming?"

She heard Hailey groan, but soon Hailey joined her. Each using her flashlight, they scanned the space for anything Marchek had hidden. They split up. Jamie went left around a thick cement pillar she guessed was footing for the stairwell. She could see the other lights flickering behind her.

"Scream if you see anything," she called out.

The space was cool and moist and the thought that Marchek might be there gave her the chills. She shook them off, returned to the hunt. A mound of dirt blocked her view of the far corner. She had to crawl across it to continue.

Just then she heard Hailey call out.

She turned back and scrambled across the dirt, half crawling, half running.

Hailey stood over an old metal meat locker. Padlocked closed, the locker had been mostly buried. Only four inches stood above the surface.

Jamie motioned Hailey back and, using the backside of her Maglite, she smashed the lock. It didn't break. She drew her gun and aimed it at the lock. "Stand back."

Hailey moved behind her. Without any other eye protection, Jamie slipped on her sunglasses and fired at the lock. The steel dropped open.

She found a pen and used it to remove the lock and lift the top of the locker.

The inside was neatly organized. A pile of straps lay carefully coiled beside a box of powder-free latex gloves. There were towels, a pair of heavy work pants, tennis shoes, and a dark sweatshirt. Jamie lifted what looked like a pillowcase and found a hood. Jagged eyeholes stared back at her and she imagined Emily Osbourne's fear.

"Oh shit," Hailey whispered.

Jamie turned.

There, taped to the open lid, was a series of photographs and personal items. Jamie recognized a candid shot of Shawna Delman, coming out of the police station. Beside it was one of another victim in her police car. But the one she knew Hailey was fixed on was a photograph of Mackenzie sitting on the steps of her apartment, a drink in her hand. Beside it was a card that read "Cafe Baby Cakes Frequency Card." On the card were four small daisy-shaped punches. Next to each photo was a similar memento. A Blockbuster card with one of the victim's names, an insurance card issued to Shawna Delman.

Jamie looked up at Hailey. She placed her hand on the other woman's arm and said nothing. There was nothing to say that would erase the fear that Marchek had instilled in them.

Taking him off the streets would help. That, at least, would be a step.

Baby steps. At least she was moving forward. That had to count for something.

Chapter 34

With back-up en route, Hailey agreed to stay with the evidence while Jamie initiated the search for Marchek. Roger would come to start processing the locker, but they all knew it was plenty to make an arrest. Jamie wanted to be there when they brought him in. Takedowns were rare and when they came, she savored them. Jamie also didn't like the fact that her surveillance team hadn't seen Marchek in the eight hours since they'd called in additional surveillance.

Besides, there wasn't much to go home to. Tony had taken Zephenaya to Sacramento to meet his temporary foster parents. They'd even taken Barney along for the ride. For some reason, Jamie didn't look forward to going home to the empty house. She didn't let herself consider that it would soon be permanently empty again. She'd have Barney, she thought.

On a whim, Jamie decided to work one last piece of the puzzle before turning in. She knew she could bring Zephenaya in to ID Scanlan as the man who had knifed Barney, but she might be able to get confirmation without having to drag Z through more crap.

She called the main desk and was relieved to get her favorite clerk, Shirley.

"It's Vail."

"Hey, you. How's it going?"

"I've got a question about Scott Scanlan."

Shirley grumbled. "I got ten minutes before dinner. Don't ruin my appetite."

"Don't worry. I'm looking to nail him."

"Then I'm your woman."

Jamie laughed. "What can you tell me about his partner?"

"Hell. I thought you were going to make it tough. Hang on."

Jamie heard the phone drop to the desk, then the background noises of Shirley working. Shirley had never mastered the hold button. She came back a minute and a half later. "Name's Dave Priestley. He came out of the academy in June."

Someone spoke behind her and Shirley paused. When she returned, she said, "Teresa says he's the youngest of three brothers. They're all in blue."

Three cops. That was a good thing. "You have a number for him?"

"Sure do." Shirley rattled it off and Jamie wrote. She thanked Shirley for the help and told her to grab dinner a few minutes early.

"If only I worked for you, Ms Vail," she said, laughing.

Jamie dialed Priestley's number and immediately heard the recording of his voice. After the tone, Jamie said, "This is Jamie Vail. I'm an inspector in the Sexual Assault Unit. I have reason to believe you were on my property at 129 Payne in San Rafael last Saturday night with Scott Scanlan. I'd like to speak with you about that evening. I don't believe you were committing a crime, and I'm confident we can straighten this out if you call me directly."

She left her cell phone number, paused, and added, "If you decide not to call me back, you'll be treated as an accessory in any investigation I conduct." The threat sounded full of wind. It was. She wouldn't be conducting any investigation. It wasn't in her jurisdiction, for one. For two, she didn't do that kind of investigation. That would be someone like Daniels, if the deputy chief didn't nip it in the bud.

But since Dave was a new cop, with family pressure, he might just call and come clean. It was worth a try, anyway. Worst case, she'd get scolded by her captain and she'd have to bring Zephenaya into it.

She glanced up at the clock and tried to decide whether to stay. It was almost eight and she was tired. When the call came, she'd see Marchek behind bars—that was all that really mattered. The warrant was in process, and she'd put in a request to release an APB on Marchek.

She drove home slowly, smoked. She blew the breath out into the dark, clear sky and listened to classic rock on KFOG. Sang out loud. The sense of redemption at nailing Marchek was almost as intoxicating as a drink of scotch. She sang along with Mick and Sheryl Crow and Norah Jones and pulled into her driveway at a quarter-past nine.

A patrol car sat in front of her house. There was one at Mackenzie's house and Hailey's as well. They weren't taking any chances. Jamie rolled her window down and waved. The officer waved back.

The house dark, Jamie opened the garage door and pulled inside. The light clicked on and she scanned the garage for signs of anything strange. Saw nothing. She punched the button to close the door behind her.

As she started to get out of the car, her cell phone rang. It was Chip Washington confirming that the warrant for Marchek had been signed and delivered and that the APB was out. This was it. She finally had enough to hold the son of a bitch. Bail would be too high. He'd sit in jail. They'd get a conviction.

This was a good moment. Rare. It didn't always work out like this. She opened her phone again to call Hailey, but decided against it. They'd talk in the morning.

The light on the garage door opener clicked off and Jamie cracked her car door open. Using the car light, she gathered her things. She swung her holster over her shoulder, scooped up her laptop and notes and backed out of the car. Her holster caught on the emergency brake. She leaned forward but couldn't free it. She shifted her computer and notes to the other arm, let the holster fall from her shoulder onto the passenger seat. Her hands were too full to grab it. She'd have to come back.

She maneuvered her way through the dark to the back door, flipped the light switch with her elbow. Nothing happened. The bulb had blown. "Damn it."

She stepped toward the door, heard a crunch beneath her feet. Her heart stopped. Broken glass. She dropped her pile. The laptop clattered to the ground beside her feet. She dove for her car. Too late.

Heavy hands snatched her from behind, gripping her shoulders like steel vises. He rammed her, headfirst, into the door. She heard a sharp crack—wood or maybe her skull. She saw red in the blackness. Her hands swam in front of her, struggled to make contact with something she could use for support. It was all air.

She grabbed for one of the hands that held her. They were sunken into her flesh like anchors. He yanked her backwards. Her hand struck the doorknob. She stretched for it, seized the cold metal in her fist. She twisted as he shoved her head toward the wood again. The door flew open. She catapulted into the laundry room, the man behind her.

She spun onto her back, raised her legs to kick. She got only one leg in the air before he came down on top of her. She pinned her foot against his chest. Steely eyes, dark hair. Marchek.

"Help!" she shouted, trying to straighten her leg to drive him back. The officer could not hear her from the street. Not with the garage door closed. Her effort barely budged Marchek. Too heavy. Panic corked in her throat.