Requite (4 page)

The neighbor that the captain had just spoken with was still standing at his mailbox staring at us. I pointed over at him. “I’m going to have a quick talk with the neighbor, and then get going on this back at our station. We’ll keep you updated.”

“I appreciate it guys.” Captain Clark gave Hank and me a handshake and walked back toward the Miller’s house.

We headed for the neighbor. A twenty minute chat later and he had nothing more to offer. We had as much as we were going to get at the scene. Hank and I wrapped up and made for downtown, back to the station.

After briefing the captain, the rest of the afternoon was spent trying to contact family for interviews and digging into the couple’s backgrounds. Their only child was an adult son that attended college out of state. He wouldn’t be able to get to Florida for a few days. It didn’t seem as if he was close with his parents. The only information he could provide was that they had won some kind of lottery a few months back. The home and contents were nice, but not extravagant, and nothing stolen. I planned to look into it further. On the surface, they appeared to be a normal mid-forties married couple. Neither had any records more severe than traffic citations, and not many at that. I called in a favor to Agent Faust, a friend over at the FBI, to get me some additional information on the couple.

It was pushing six o’clock when I shut down the computer at my desk. A quick talk with Callie solidified our plans of a movie following Italian food at a restaurant she liked. I locked up my office and headed over to the captain’s to tell him I was heading out. I gave his door a quick rap with my knuckles and walked in.

Captain Bostok looked up from his desk and rocked back in his chair. “Are you taking off?”

“Yup. Going to go grab dinner and try to catch a movie with Callie. She doesn’t have to work tonight.”

“Get interviews set for tomorrow?”

“There’s nobody to interview. No witnesses and no family in the area. Both James and Margaret Miller’s parents are deceased and neither has siblings. I spoke with their son who attends college out in California. He didn’t have much to offer but will contact me when he arrives in the area.”

“Find any friends?”

“Their son didn’t remember any last names of the few friends they had.”

The captain seemed to be thinking on something. “What about cell phones? Could we maybe go through their call logs and see who they were in frequent contact with?” he asked.

“Captain Clark said that there were no mobile phones found on the scene.”

“They were taken or didn’t own any?”

“Killer must have grabbed them.”

“So we have two dead bodies and nowhere to start?”

“I called Faust over at the Fed’s office to see if he could fast-track some additional background information. I asked for work history, phone records and banking. Maybe something will help there.”

The captain nodded. “It’s a start. You realize we can get all that in house right?”

“Except that it will take us three weeks. Faust will have everything in a day or two.”

“Just don’t use up all your favors.”

I nodded.

“So dinner and a movie, huh? Where are you guys going to eat?”

The topic of food was always of interest to him. I leaned against the door sill of his office. “I think some Italian joint.”

“Real Italian or Americanized Italian?”

I shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

The captain went on to give me the finer details of “real Italian” foods and dishes. What I got out of the story was that real Italian food wasn’t covered in red sauce. They also used less cheese.

He rubbed his ever growing belly. “Mmmm Italian. The old lady says she’s got something going in the slow cooker tonight. I’ll see if I can talk her into doing one of her mother’s recipes tomorrow night. Mother in law was from somewhere in Italy. She was a real battle ax, but man, could she cook.”

I glanced at my watch. His food ramblings were informative, but I didn’t feel like explaining to my girlfriend that I was late to eat because the captain and I were talking about food. “Anything pressing? Otherwise I need to scoot if we want to make the nine o’clock show.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Have a good night. See you in the morning.”

I nodded and closed the door to leave. I turned smack into Hank.

“You heading out?” he asked.

“Yeah, Callie and I are going to grab dinner and a movie.”

“What are you seeing?”

“Don’t know. I guess we’ll decide when we get there.”

“Did she move in yet?”

“No, she didn’t move in yet.”

“Does she have any drawers in your dresser? A toothbrush in the holder?”

I shook my head. He didn’t need to know that she already had both.

“I got to go. I’ll see you at the meeting in the morning.”

He smiled. “Have fun.”

I turned from Hank and started down the hall.

Tom pulled the white cargo van into the parking structure, driving up and down isles until he found Jessica Casey’s shiny new Acura. The van was backed it into the closest spot he could find to her car. Tom killed the motor, hopped out and removed the rear license plate. It was tossed on the floor in the back of the van. He stepped back in through the sliding side door and stared out of the windshield. Metal bars separated the front seats from the back cargo area.

He knew exactly where Jake Richwood and Jessica Casey were going to be tonight—he had been following them for three weeks. Each Tuesday was the same routine. Jessica and Jake drove together to their class at the college, parked in this structure and after class went to the sports bar across the street. They stayed until close.

It’s bad to have routines when people are watching,
he thought.

He knelt on the metal floor, eyes locked on the stairwell they would use to return to the car.

Tom slid the ski mask from his pocket over his head—black with just holes for his eyes and mouth. From inside his duffel bag, he slid out the tire iron. A quick check of his pants pocket confirmed he had his pocket knife. He stared out the windshield.

“Come on.”

Tom thumped the tire iron against his gloved hand. He caught the time: 2:52 a.m.

A few minutes passed.

Tom drew in a deep breath through his nose as he counted to six. He let it out the same way. A breathing technique his shrink taught him to relax.

The bar had to be booting people out by now. Any second,
he thought.

Tom’s eyes stayed fixed on the stairs. Headlights flashed into his van as a car parked across from him flashed its lights signaling that it had been unlocked. Tom ducked down and kept an eye on the car. Three drunk college aged guys hopped in and the car disappeared down the exit ramp of the structure.

He went back to watching the stairs. A couple walked up, holding hands. He used the metal bars to pull himself inches closer and get a better look.

“It’s them,” he said.

He held the handle of the sliding rear door with his left hand—the tire iron in his right. Tom looked around the parking structure, it was quiet. No cars coming or going, and no people.

Perfect,
he thought.

Tom slid open the door and stepped out. He crouched at the back of the van until they passed. Tom walked around the other side toward them. His movements were quiet enough to not draw the attention of the couple walking just a few feet ahead. In four steps Tom was behind them. He raised his arm and swung the tire iron down into the top of Jake’s head. The blow sent him stumbling forward. Tom raised the tire iron again for another strike, this one to Jessica. The tire iron made contact over her right ear as she turned toward him. The one blow was enough to send her falling to the cement face first. Tom took two steps after Jake and delivered three more blows to his head. Within seconds, he joined Jessica face-down in the parking lot. Blood pumped from his head onto the concrete.

Tom surveyed the parking lot. Clear. He looked at Jessica, she wasn’t moving—either dead or knocked out. Light from Jake’s cell phone caught Tom’s eye. He was trying to make a call.

“Nah, nah. No phone calls, Jake.”

Tom kicked the phone from his hand, sending it skidding across the parking lot and under a nearby car. The tire iron was lifted overhead again. Tom brought it down into the side of Jake’s head. Jake’s movement stopped. Tom raised the tire iron again and delivered Jake’s motionless body another blow. He rolled Jake face-up and knelt over him. The knife came from his pocket. One by one, he sliced his letters into Jake’s forehead. Finished, he reached down and checked for a pulse. He didn’t find one.

Jessica was next. Tom positioned her on her back and knelt at her left side. Jake’s blood dripped from the tip of the knife as he raised it over Jessica’s forehead. Before the blade could break her flesh, headlights shined up the ramp of the structure. Tom flipped the knife closed and stuck it in his pocket. She was taken into his arms. Her blonde hair, soaked red in blood, hung down and dripped onto the parking lot. He felt her breathing—she was still alive.

Jessica was carried back to the van and placed inside. He slammed the sliding door closed and rounded the back to enter the driver’s side. The car pulling into the structure had stopped. The vehicle’s headlights shined over Jake’s body lying motionless. Tom fired the van’s motor and stomped the gas. The tires spun and squealed as the van launched from its parking spot. He ripped the wheel left and sped down the exit ramp. The van crashed through the yellow plastic arm of the unmanned guardhouse and bounced into the street. Plastic splinters from the drop down barrier skittered across the road behind his van. He held the steering wheel to the right and kept the gas pedal floored. He kept an eye on the side mirrors. The car from the structure wasn’t following him. The quick exit from the parking structure drew looks from people on the street, yet still no one followed.

A few miles away Tom looked over his shoulder and through the metal cage. Jessica lay motionless aside from being bounced around from the van’s suspension. He’d have to finish her off elsewhere.

The morning traffic left the freeway in a standstill. I was still ten minutes north of the city heading home from Callie’s house. While I liked staying over there, I wasn’t a fan of the morning commute. The four southbound lanes didn’t move more than a car length at a time. It took another fifteen minutes before the skyline of downtown came into view, twenty more on top of that before I entered.

My cell phone vibrated away on the dash of the unmarked cruiser. The caller I.D. said it was Hank. It was early for a phone call. Our shift didn’t start for over an hour. I hit the talk button.

“Morning, Hank.”

“Are you on your way to the station?”

“Not yet. Why? What’s up?”

“The captain didn’t call you? He called me.”

I looked at the screen of my phone. I missed a call from the station ten minutes prior. “Guess he tried. I must have missed it. What’s going on?”

“We got a development on our double from yesterday.”

“Someone come forward?”

“No. More victims.”

“Shit.”

“How soon can you be in?”

I ran through how much time it would take to get to my house, then to the station. I needed to shower, change and deal with the cat. Butch never seemed to be in a good mood when I left him alone for the night. On top of that, he learned a few new moves to bypass me trying to catch him at the door. “I can be down there in a half hour or so.”

“Alright. I’m on my way to Dotana’s to grab us breakfast and some coffees. Talk to you in a bit.”

I hung up and dialed the captain’s desk. There was no answer. I left a message telling him I was en-route and flipped on the red and blues. The traffic parted and let me through to my exit. After a quick stop at my condo and a quick hallway chasing of my cat, I was on my way in.

I pulled past the front of the police station. A handful of television crews and reporters had gathered out front. I parked in the structure and walked inside. I was making my way to my office when I spotted Hank.

“We got more victims?” I asked.

“Well, kind of.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How do we
kind of
have more victims?”

“I got a preliminary for you on my desk. We had an attack and an abduction.”

“OK, I’m still waiting for the word homicide or how this is related.”

“The male victim, Jake Richwood, had a word cut into his forehead. Same blunt force trauma.”

“What was the word?”

“Murdering.”

“Justice for murdering. What’s the status on this Jake Richwood? Is he deceased?”

Hank shook his head. “Over at Tampa General—pretty bad shape. There’s more.”

“I’m listening.”

“The abducted female is Jim Casey’s daughter.”

“Jim Casey? Judge Jim Casey?” I asked.

Hank pursed his lips and gave me a quick head nod.

“Let me see the preliminary.”

We grabbed the file from his desk. I popped it open and thumbed through it. Inside were a couple statements, copies of their driver’s licenses, the location where it took place, just four blocks from the station. Not bursting with information, but worth a further look.

“This is all we got so far?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s all I know so far. Captain handed me the folders when I handed him the donuts and coffee. He’s been in his office talking with Major Danes and Sam since.”

“Let’s head over to my office, I want to sit down and take a closer look at this file before we get called in.”

At my desk, I opened the case folder. I pulled out the witness statements first.

The first witness statement was from a Michelle Collins—the woman who called it in. It said she was pulling into the parking structure and witnessed a man kneeling next to a woman. A body of another man lay on the ground next to them. When the suspect noticed her, he loaded the woman into a van and sped away. She approached the man who remained and saw all the blood. She called 9-1-1 at 3:06 a.m. but couldn’t identify the make or model of the van. There was no plate number listed. The suspect was over six foot and wore coveralls with a black mask. It was all the description she could provide.