On the Count of Three, page 9
La Casa de Jose was a few blocks from the courthouse, and Jack, Marsh, and I were en route there now while Paige and Zach were checking in with the driving service Stella used.
“The guy is probably long gone by now.” Marsh squirmed in the back seat like an anxious and impatient child on a road trip.
“If he has any brains at all,” I added.
“Dumb slip-ups are how some of the best get caught,” Marsh countered.
“If they were the best, they wouldn’t get caught,” I volleyed back, being a wiseass because I knew full well she was right. I’d just been thinking the same thing. “How couldn’t he have noticed that he had the wrong phone?”
“He could have the same one.” Marsh’s suggestion came quick and had Jack looking over at me with a smirk. He was in a hell of a good mood ever since Kelter went back to being a victim, as horrible as that sounded…
“So you’re telling me that he never noticed that the lock screen image was different?” I asked.
“He could have just turned it on and shoved it into a pocket,” Marsh said nonchalantly, and I detested how easily she made me look bad in front of Jack—again.
Jack pulled into a parking spot near the restaurant, and the three of us headed for the door. The hostess smiled at us when we entered.
“Hello,” she greeted us, a friendly smile on her face. Her expression faded when Jack and I held up our creds, and Marsh her badge. No doubt law enforcement netted the same response worldwide.
“I’ll get the owner,” the hostess said, tucking her chin to her shoulder, her cheeks flushed. “I’ll be right back.”
From appearances, the place did pretty well. There weren’t many empty seats. A waitress delivered a couple of entrees to a nearby table and eyed us with curiosity. She looked over a shoulder at the same time the hostess was returning with a Latino man in his early sixties. Silver hair on his head, thick eyebrows, and a mustache to match. He was wearing a blue polo shirt and tan slacks under a knee-length white apron.
“It’s about time you got here. I called at least an hour ago,” he said.
I slid a sideways glance at Jack, who was probably as lost as I was, but he was looking at the man. Why had he been expecting us?
“Well, we’re here now,” Jack said, playing along. “And you’re—”
“Jose Garcia, the owner.” Jose waved for us to follow him through the restaurant. “Come see what this moron did. We have him on tape, too, if that helps you get this guy.”
“We’ll definitely want to see the tape,” I chimed in.
“Of course, of course, but first—” Jose stepped into an alcove off to the right and back of the seating area where the restrooms were. He opened the door to the men’s room and gestured for us to go inside. “Look what he did.”
The room was small—two stalls, a urinal, and a sink. On the wall was a busted paper towel dispenser. Its lever was on the floor, and there were a few drops of blood on the tile surrounding it.
Please don’t tell me that he’d called the police over that.
“You see it, yes?” Jose said excitedly. “He destroyed restaurant property.”
Wow. He had called about that.
I backed out of the room, and so did Jack and Marsh. I almost hit my head on a fragrance dispenser mounted on the wall. It cleared my height—if barely—but apparently, I was a little jittery and I jumped back anyway. I shook it off and focused on how this seemingly inconsequential destruction of property might give us a lead through forensics.
Marsh and Jack made eye contact, and she nodded, pulled out her phone, and stepped away. I gathered she’d be calling in the Crime Scene techs.
“Where’s she going?” Jose called out. “Is she calling those people who dust for prints and stuff?”
“She is,” Jack told him, and Jose’s posture relaxed. “Has anyone else been in the restroom since the man who did this?”
“Only me and Leslie, one of my waitresses. She went in after the man stormed out of here. There was a lady picking up stuff off the floor. Trying to cover up what they did, I guess.”
Hairs rose on the back of my neck. “A lady?”
“Yes. I think it was his girlfriend.”
“Is she here now?” I tucked my head out of the alcove and glanced at the patrons.
“No, she left,” Jose said.
Maybe we were reading the situation incorrectly and the woman was Kelter. I hesitated to ask, but we needed to know. “What did she look like?”
“Blond, trim, wearing a short skirt.”
I nodded. Kelter was a brunette, but women changed their hair color all the time. And reverting back to the theory Kelter may have left Gordon, she might take steps to alter her appearance. Though, none of this blended with Kelter and Bridges’s affair.
“And the man? What did he look like?” I asked.
“Anything distinguishing about him?” Jack added.
“He had a small, round scar on his neck. That’s what Leslie told me.” Jose tapped his neck below his right ear. “Right here.”
“Do you know where he went from here?” Jack asked.
“He went outside and headed west, but I couldn’t catch him.” Jose put a hand over his heart. “I’m not as young as I used to be. On his way out, he nearly ran over Leslie.”
Marsh returned. “They’ll be here soon. We should clear the restaurant.”
Jose’s eyes widened. “Clear my— Wait a minute. You didn’t come here about my paper towel dispenser, did you?”
I shook my head.
“You are cops, though?”
Obviously, the hostess hadn’t filled Jose in completely. Jack pulled out his creds again. I was close behind, and Marsh was a fraction of a second after me.
“FBI? ¡Dios mío! Oh my God!” Jose staggered back, his hand still over his heart.
“Whoa, easy there.” I quickly caught the older man’s arm and held him steady. He shook me off as if he was embarrassed by my assistance.
“What’s going on here?” Jose’s gaze flicked toward the restroom door and then he looked back at the three of us. His eyes flicked to Marsh’s badge. “You’re a cop.”
“Detective Kelly Marsh,” she told him. “Miami PD, Homicide.” And then off she went to start clearing the restaurant.
Jose’s mouth gaped open and shut like a fish’s. “Homicide?” His gaze trailed after Marsh, who was talking to a waitress with a short blond bob. He didn’t seem concerned about the loss of business anymore.
“We’re investigating the disappearance of a woman,” Jack explained.
“You think the man who broke my dispenser took her?”
“He’s a person of interest,” I said, committing to nothing.
Jose’s face paled. “Oh.”
“We’d like to see that video you mentioned,” Jack began, “and to speak with Leslie.”
“I’ll get her first, then the video.” Jose walked off, and a moment later, a petite woman in her thirties approached. She had a tan complexion, and her long black hair was wound in a bun. The pocket of her half apron was stuffed with a notepad and a pen.
“Hi?” she said, clearly wary. “Mr. Garcia said you wanted to talk to me?”
Jose was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, he was all right given the shock he experienced when we told him why we were here and he was just getting the video.
I addressed Leslie. “We’d like to talk to you about the man who—”
“You mean the slime who raped that woman in the restroom, then ran off?”
“Raped her?” I asked incredulously. If rape was suspected, why was Jose more concerned about his stupid paper towel dispenser? Sometimes the way people thought just didn’t make sense.
“Uh-huh.” Leslie fell quiet for a few seconds and frowned. “Not that she said as much, but she was silent, almost catatonic, when I found her. There had been life in her eyes when I took their orders, but after, they were dark, like the light had gone out. She kept covering her neck with her hand, but I could see that it was all red and blotchy. I don’t know exactly what happened in that restroom, but I think that man raped her. And the restroom smelled like sex.” She flushed. “Mr. Garcia seemed blinded by rage over the damage. He couldn’t see that something wasn’t right with her. He kept going off on her. Eventually she put a twenty on the table and left. We couldn’t force her to stay.”
“Did she say anything to you?” Marsh asked, joining us again, obviously overhearing enough of our conversation to jump right in.
“Just that her boyfriend got some bad news and had to leave.”
Bad news, all right… This man had to be our killer. Though knowing that didn’t get us any closer to finding him.
Leslie’s nostrils flared. “I’ve seen it before in family. She’s being abused one way or another.” Any sadness she’d been showing disappeared and was replaced by anger. Her hand balled into a fist. “If I ever see him again…” She blinked and relaxed her hand as if cluing into the fact that her words smacked of a threat in front of law enforcement. “Anyway, is there anything else I can do to help? If not, I should get to closing out my tables.”
“Actually, we have a few more questions for you,” I said. “Has he been in here before today?”
“I’ve seen her before, but not him.”
“Does she normally pay cash?” I asked. We might not have a credit card trail to follow from today, but maybe a past visit would yield one.
“I think so?” Uncertainty strained her voice. “I’m guessing you’d like me to say she paid by credit card. But even if she did, I couldn’t tell you when.”
“Do you think they’d been seeing each other long?” I asked to get a feel for the significance of their relationship.
Leslie hitched her shoulders. “I’m not sure. He seemed to be zoning out on her when she was talking to him. That normally happens after being in a relationship for a while.”
The door of the restaurant opened, and I peeked out from the alcove. Two techs from Crime Scene were speaking with the hostess at her stand.
Jose returned, pointing to the techs, and Marsh left to greet them. “Happy they’re here,” Jose said and held out a USB stick to me. “That’s the surveillance footage.”
“We wouldn’t mind taking a look at it now,” Jack said.
“Sure. Follow me.” Jose turned toward the kitchen.
“May I get back to work?” Leslie asked.
Jose stopped walking and looked back at us.
“We’ll come get you if we have any more questions,” Jack told her.
Jack and I were about to go with Jose when Marsh approached with two male CSIs. One of them was long and lean and probably a few inches over six feet, while his partner’s cherubic appearance made him look like a junior high student. He was all of maybe five six. It was easy to identify the lead over his number two.
Long and Lean pointed a finger toward the men’s room. “This the one we need to look at?”
“Yep,” Marsh confirmed.
No introductions were made, and the investigators beelined toward the restroom door.
The three of us stepped back to allow them access. After they went inside, Jose said, “You want to see that video now?” and resumed heading toward the kitchen.
Jack and I started after him when Marsh grabbed my arm. I stopped and faced her. So did Jack. “I’m going to stay with the techs, watch how they make out here,” she told us.
Jack nodded, and I would’ve sworn that I detected a subtle smile. He was impressed by her tenacity and need to stay on top of things. I wasn’t sure the CSIs would have been. I wouldn’t have appreciated the hovering, but then again, she wasn’t in my good books anyway. It took effort for me to garner Jack’s approval, and it came to her so easily.
-
Fifteen
My God, I am so careless, so stupid…
He was pacing the boardwalk, trying to clear his head by breathing in the fresh, salty air, but it wasn’t working. He was agitated, and the Night was furious. He had been such an idiot grabbing the wrong phone and then leaving Roxanne behind.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And that wasn’t even considering the fact that his prints and DNA would be all over that restroom. He looked down at his injured hand, at the dried blood, wishing he could feel, but he was numb. The Night was taking over.
He cupped his head with his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp, and walked in a circle. Passersby stared at him, doing double takes as if they knew something was off with him. Well, they’d be right. One mistake could be what took him down.
He dropped his arms and took in a deep steadying breath. Focus on the facts.
He’d been careful not to leave a trace of himself during past kills and didn’t have a record. So even if they dusted for his prints, could they track him down?
He balled his hands into fists, expecting—even desiring—some pain from the injured one, but nothing.
It will be all right, he consoled himself. Yet the Night roared—getting louder, more persistent, and wishing he’d act more often. It tempted him by reminding him how killing soothed his soul. He couldn’t deny that. It was as close to a religious experience as he could hope to get. The study of the Bible and making confessions had been his mother’s thing, not his. If there was a Heaven and Hell, he’d be headed for burning damnation. But in this life, killing was a heavenly blessing. How he longed to have it rain down over him…
The police could be on to him. He had to bury the impulses deep within, ignore the taunting to act. It was time for damage control, and he had to find out what the police knew. The uncertainty was driving him mad.
What if he hadn’t been as careful as he thought he had? His prints and DNA could be in a police database somewhere, ready to come back to bite him.
And Roxanne… The cops could have gotten to her, but she was his puppet, weak and malleable. Or did that make her a liability? Maybe they could make her talk. He had tried to choke her. What if she feared for her life and told them everything? He had to know what was going on, but his phone would be with his victim.
He paced some more, looking around. He spotted a pay phone and paused at the sight of the relic.
Well, what do you know? God provides after all.
He hurried over to the phone and fed some change into the machine. He waited as her line rang a few times. Then her voice mail picked up. His entire body froze despite the warm breeze and the hot sun.
“I’m so sorry about earlier, baby,” he said. “Please call me.” He hung up, slush running through his veins. The cops could be interrogating her at this moment. They could be tracking her calls. He had to leave. Now. He turned to hurry off and came face-to-face with a little girl and a man, who he assumed was her father. She was laughing and skipping but stopped doing both abruptly before colliding with him. She stared up at him while the father’s brow hardened.
“Sorry about that,” he said to the father and pressed on a smile.
The father eventually nodded and returned the expression before leading his daughter away.
“Great day to be outside,” he called out after them, swallowing the bile that came with the sentiment.
“That it is,” the father replied as he and the girl carried on down the boardwalk.
He watched after them for a bit and was taken back to his childhood. He was curious as to when the Night had actually taken root, but just like always, when he tried to figure it out he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. Maybe it had been there from the start of his life and had fused itself into his consciousness over time. What he did know was that life used to be good. That was, until Michael had moved in. As his mother had liked to claim, Michael was the other name for Jesus. As if Michael was the family’s savior. Only he didn’t save the family; he destroyed it. Even Mom and Dad’s marriage fell apart not long after.
He clenched his hands into tight fists. Michael had been anything but a savior for him. Because of Michael, his dad had started looking at him differently. The vacations to Disney World had stopped, and the presents on birthdays and at Christmas had dwindled. Really, Michael had killed the good within him and encouraged the Night to take over.
Who really had the right to judge good and bad, right and wrong? Wasn’t it all about perspective?
He smiled as he hustled down the boardwalk. He should thank Michael for helping him evolve into his true self. He had to protect the Night just as he would his own soul; it was as real as flesh and blood. No matter the cost, he had more work to do.
-
Sixteen
It was the hunt that fueled me to become better at my job with every passing day, with every new unsub we needed to stop. Pops would never be able to understand that or appreciate the spike in adrenaline that accompanied a lead like the one Jack and I were on the verge of now. We were about to see our killer’s face for the first time. Maybe I was rushing to conclude this man was our unsub, but the pieces were falling together: he had Kelter’s phone, he had a violent reaction to the call, took off from the restaurant, and had a submissive partner. Though I wasn’t about to share my conclusion with Jack just yet. Surely, he’d poke a hole in my theory and tell me I was relying too much on coincidence.
Jose’s office was off the back of the kitchen. It had two workstations with computers and trays full of paper. Both desks had hutches plastered with photographs, charts, telephone lists, and business cards. There were a couple of chairs for visitors tucked in a corner. Jose moved them opposite his desk.
“Sit,” Jose told us, and we did as he had directed. He proceeded to angle the monitor so that Jack and I could see it, and then he leaned back in his chair. Its frame creaked with the movement. He inserted the USB drive into the computer and started the video.
