Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1) (15 page)

Hank laughed. “Whatever. We make it work. You need a ride or what?”

“Nah, I’ll grab a cab in a little bit here.”

Callie returned with the tab and my beer, smiled, and then headed for a group of four that was grabbing stools at the bar.

Hank tossed down the money to cover the tab and stood. “Okay, don’t stay too late.”

“Yup. Think this is my last beer. I want to get a little of… damn, what’s that called?”

“Sleep?” he asked.

“Nailed it,” I said.

“See you in the morning.”

Hank walked toward the door.

I grabbed my beer and found a spot at the end of the bar.

Callie came over. “How long are you sticking around?”

“I’m going to head out after this one. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Need to play catch up.”

“Stay and have one more. It’s on me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She smiled and walked to the guy at the end of the bar waving a five-dollar bill. I watched her do her rounds through the bar while I sipped my beer. Ten minutes later, Callie was back, and my beer was empty.

“Decide?” she asked.

“Sure, what the hell. Last one.”

She poured me a mug and set it down on the bar. “Kane, let me go close that group of people out. I’ll be right back. I want to run something past you.”

“All right.” She walked off toward the other end of the bar.

I dialed up the cab company to send a taxi. They said it would be fifteen minutes or so. I hung up and focused my attention on the bar’s TV. A fishing show played on the little screen. I squinted and tried to make out what was going on. The guys on the flats boat appeared to be fishing for snook. Either my eyesight was getting bad, or the bar needed a bigger TV. I chalked it up as a combination of the two.

Callie walked around the bar and sprang up onto the stool next to me. “When was the last time you had a real meal?”

“What do you mean? I just had the best steak sandwich in town.”

“No, I mean something that someone cooked that didn’t involve a microwave or a bill when you finished.”

I kicked the question around in my head for a few seconds, replaying what I’d eaten from the last few days, then weeks. I came up with TV dinners, expired vending-machine food, and takeout from various greasy spoons around work.

“It’s been a while.”

“You like Italian?”

“Food?”

She smiled big. “Yeah food, dummy.”

“Of course. Who doesn’t?”

“Let me cook you dinner.”

I looked at her, sitting next to me. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Okay.”

“How about Sunday night? I don’t have to work. Around eight o’clock?”

“Well, I’d have to check my social calendar.”

“Whatever. Let me give you my address.” She pulled a pen from the waistline of her low-riding, tight-fitting jeans. She jotted it down on a napkin from the bar and handed it to me.

I gave it a quick glance. “No phone number?”

“Nope. You can’t cancel, that way.”

I stuffed the napkin into my wallet. “I’ll see you Sunday.” I tried to be nonchalant.

“The food will be ready by eight thirty. Don’t be late.”

“You mean delivered?”

“I can cook, you jerk.”

“Guess we’ll find out.” I smiled. Through the front doors, I could see a cab waiting at the curb. “Looks like my ride is out front. Here, hold on.” I motioned for her pen, and she handed it over. I wrote my cell number on a napkin. “In case something comes up, you can get a hold of me.”

She took it, smiled, and sprang a hug on me that I wasn’t expecting. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me close.

“Can’t wait.” She whispered it into my ear, followed by a kiss on the cheek. She let go and turned to get back to work. I waited there for a second, still a little shocked, before I headed for the door.

Things were looking up, at least in the personal-life department. Work was another story altogether.

He returned from his trip across town and cleaned Anna’s body before they left the house. She wasn’t playing possum like Diane Robins, he was certain. If she had anything left upstairs, she would have protested being scrubbed with bleach.

The black tint of his Range Rover’s windows wouldn’t allow anyone to see the woman or him inside. With the police searching for taxis, taking his own vehicle would limit the risk. He belted her into the passenger seat beside him and buttoned her blazer around her. Underneath the jacket, she was wearing the familiar green lingerie. On her back was a message written in magic marker.

He had found the perfect high-traffic area to set her loose. The location had no cameras, which would allow him to leave unseen, he hoped.

A block and a half down from Seventh Avenue in Ybor City, he saw people walking in the lights of the street ahead. The particular part of town was a bustling area for nightlife. He looked at the parking lot approaching on his left—it sat behind the buildings of the strip. The lot was three quarters full with cars but dark. He had scouted the place out in the daylight the week before. He didn’t spot a single camera. The lot had no guard shack or security, just a small machine nestled next to a group of shrubs where you paid and got a parking pass. He pulled in and curled the SUV around to the back. A parking spot came into view at the rear corner of the lot. He backed in and killed the motor.

He sat in the darkness and watched a car pull in and park. A group of college kids piled out and walked toward the street. After they left, the area went quiet. No cars were coming in, and no one was walking the lot. He looked over at Anna. Her eyes were open, staring forward. Her head lay against the headrest. He reached over with his gloved hand and unbuckled her seat belt. He unbuttoned her blazer. Taking it off of her took him longer than he liked. She wasn’t doing anything to help the matter.

He looked around at his surroundings. The lot was still empty of people coming or going. He opened his door and went around the back of the SUV to the other side. She stared out her window at him. He pulled the handle but stopped before the door swung open. Two women walked across the lot in his direction. He left the door and crouched down in the darkness between the cars.

He listened to their conversation. The women laughed and joked about some jerk that had hit on them in the bar. They came closer. His lungs constricted. A cough tried to escape. He placed one hand over his mouth and fought to keep it down. The women were one car away. His body jerked. He squeezed his nose to keep the air from escaping. The women passed. When he heard the second car door close, he took his hands from his face. He placed his shirt over his face and coughed. Blood spattered the inside of his shirt. It was better to be on him than the ground, where a forensics team could find it if they searched the area.

The women pulled out of the lot in a newer Toyota Camry. He waited until they turned onto the street. The lot was clear.

He went back to the Range Rover’s door and opened it. He paused and examined his rubber gloves in the light from inside the truck. They were blood free. He took Anna by the arms and pulled her out. She rocked on her feet. He moved her around the car door and closed it.

He pointed out in front of her. “Walk toward the lights.”

From behind, he shoved her. She stumbled and took a step—then another. She walked mindlessly.

He got back in the car and started it. The latex gloves stretched and snapped as he pulled them from his hands. Through the windshield, he watched her. She swayed left and right but continued forward toward the next row of cars. A mirror from a pickup truck caught her on the shoulder and spun her. She fell into the car next to her.

He pulled from the lot and made a right onto Seventh Avenue. He waited at the red light. A sea of people made their way across the street at the crosswalk. The strip was busy—people sat outside the bars and clubs laughing, drinking, and enjoying themselves.

She’ll be found within five minutes.

He turned on the police scanner he’d bought earlier in the day.

The sound of my phone buzzing on the coffee table woke me up. I jammed my fingers into my eyes for a quick rub. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, watching television. The clock on the cable box showed a few minutes after midnight. I’d been asleep for an hour. I shooed Butch off my lap so I could sit up and grab the phone. He found his pillow at the other end of the couch and stared at me. He looked annoyed that I’d disturbed him.

I figured Keller had stayed extra late and had something on our cab. The caller ID said it was the captain. That late at night, the news wouldn’t be good. I hit Talk.

“Hey, Cap.”

“Get up. Get dressed. I’ll be out front, waiting. We need to go over to Tampa General.”

“Why? What happened?”

“We have another victim from our guy. This one is alive.”

“What?”

“Just get down here. I’m pulling up now.” He hung up.

Tampa General was a two-minute drive from my condo. I could see the hospital from my patio. The complex was lit up just across the edge of the Hillsborough Bay. I pulled myself from the couch and went to the kitchen. I grabbed everything from my pockets off the table and walked out. Butch didn’t try to escape. He was in sleep mode, which is where I should have been. The captain sat out front, idling at the curb in his dark-blue sedan, a newer Ford. I got in.

“Figured this is easier,” he said.

I pulled the seat belt over my shoulder. “Now, what’s going on?”

“Got a call from Sergeant Mueller about forty-five minutes ago. One of his guys in patrol picked up a woman stumbling around a parking lot in Ybor City. Green lingerie. The woman had no ID and didn’t respond to the officer’s questions. Something was wrong with her. He took her to the hospital. I guess they admitted her right away.”

“Stitches on her head?”

“It wasn’t mentioned.”

“Did she get away?”

“I don’t know.”

The captain pulled to the side in the hospital’s drop-off area behind a police cruiser. We headed toward the sliding glass doors. An officer was standing near the front desk. The doors opened for us, and we walked into the lobby. I recognized the patrolman when we got inside. His name was Tate. I’d seen him around the station when I stayed into the night shift.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“They took her up to the second level. The attending is a Doctor Winters.”

“Did she say what happened to her?” I asked.

Tate shook his head. “Something is wrong with her. I picked her up—she didn’t say a word. Asked her name—she didn’t respond. I asked if someone hit her—silence. She just sat in the car, staring forward. She smelled of bleach. Like she’d bathed in it.”

“Were there stitches on her head?” I asked.

“I didn’t see anything like that. Looks like she may have been roughed up, though.”

“How did you find her?” I asked.

“A call came over the radio about a woman in distress behind Seventh in Ybor. I was just down the block. I arrived on the scene and saw a couple standing next to a woman in a state of undress. As I got out of the car and approached, I noticed she wore the same green lingerie as the two murder victims. I called it in to Sergeant Mueller right away. The couple told me they’d found her roaming the lot. They asked her if she was okay, but the girl wouldn’t respond. They saw she had black eyes, so they called it in. When I realized the state she was in, I brought her here.”

“Thanks, Tate. Second floor, you said?”

He nodded.

The captain and I headed up and found the nurse’s station. A woman sat behind the counter, dressed in scrubs. She looked up at us as we walked up.

“There was a woman brought in by an officer a little while ago that you had admitted.”

The girl nodded. “We have her in room two twelve. Doctor Winters is in there with her now. You guys can follow me. I’m heading back that way.”

She came around the counter, and we followed her down the hall and around the corner. At the room, she poked her head into the door. A doctor emerged.

“You Doctor Winters?” the captain asked.

“Yes.”

“The woman that was brought in, how is she? Can we speak with her?” Bostok asked.

“She’s awake but unresponsive. I haven’t gotten a single word out of her.”

“Are there stitches on her head anywhere?” I asked.

“Stitches? No, I didn’t see anything. Why?”

The captain shook his head at me to drop the subject.

“Can we see her?” I asked.

“Follow me.”

I followed Doctor Winters into the room. The captain came in behind us. A woman in a hospital gown lay in the bed, staring at us. She didn’t blink or move. She had two black eyes.

“Miss, I’m Captain Bostok, and this is Lieutenant Kane with the TPD’s homicide division. Can you tell us what happened?”

She didn’t respond. She just sat there.

The doctor pointed at me. “You’re Lieutenant Kane?”

“Yes. I’m Lieutenant Kane. Why?”

“You need to see something.” He went to the woman’s side and pulled her gown up to expose her back.

In black marker on the small of her back, it read, “Sick and depraved? I’ve got my eye on you, Lieutenant Kane.”

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“That’s how she came in.” The doctor pulled her gown back over the writing.

I took a step back. “Miss, can you tell us your name?”

She didn’t look at me or respond.

I looked to the doctor. “What can you tell us?”

“We have just started to run our tests. We drew blood and had it sent to the lab for a tox screen. We are still waiting on the results. From every test I’ve run, she’s unresponsive to any form of stimulation.”

“Do you have an idea of what is going on with her?” the captain asked.

“Too soon for me to give you an answer. We’ll need to run more tests.”

“Physical injuries?”

“Well, it’s kind of odd. You can see she has black eyes, but the bruising that is visible isn’t consistent with being struck. She also has a brand on the back of her hand.”

“A quartered circle? Triangles on the sides?” the captain asked.