Chasing Suspect Three (15 page)

They were at a stalemate. She could run back
and forth in the bedroom and bath, but he wasn’t going to let her
out of that side of the apartment to reach the front door.

She waited listening. If he tried to come
through either door, she’d run out the other. She noticed a phone
by the bed and quietly picked it up. Dead dammit. She thought she
heard him walking in the kitchen and listened carefully. Then she
was startled when a TV began blaring in the next apartment. Now she
could hear nothing. Geez, there’s shooting going on in the building
is everyone deaf?

Was he still near the front door guarding it?
She wasn’t certain. She had an idea. Take a chance. She flushed the
toilet just to divert his attention back to the front of the
apartment. Then she ran through the bedroom and out into the living
room. He had moved back toward the kitchen when he heard the
toilet. Now he saw her. He fired, hitting the bedroom door next to
her. She couldn’t run back in. He had trapped her in the living
room in plain sight. She lunged toward the balcony sliding doors.
She pushed hard. They wouldn’t slide. Locked. He stepped out of the
kitchen and aimed at her again. Another loud bang. The glass door
shattered near her hand. She fumbled and was able to turn the lever
on the door. It started to slide, but now broken pieces of glass
jammed the track. She smashed into the already cracked pane of
glass with her shoulder. It gave way spilling her onto the balcony.
He fired again as he ran toward her. His next shot wasn’t at all
close to her as she had already jumped over the railing and off the
balcony.

She struggled in the water for a moment
before she realized she was near the edge in water shallow enough
to stand up. Her head and her heart were both pounding not just
from the jump but also from the echo of the gunfire. She looked up
expecting to see the bad guy pointing the gun down at her. The
balcony was empty. She looked around in the water for blood.
Nothing.

She shouted for someone to call 911 as she
made her way to the side of the pool. An older man, who had been
stretched out on a chaise, rushed to help her out of the pool and
over to a chair.

“That was a dangerous thing you did, honey.
Next time jump farther out. You just missed the edge.” He handed
her his towel. “And you didn’t scream. Most people start screaming
as they fall. You’ve got a lot of guts.”

“You’ve no idea,” she replied.

Two women at the far end of the pool kept on
conversing. The only other people in sight were two elderly men,
sitting with their iced drinks playing Chess at a poolside table.
They seemed unaffected.

She called out, “Anyone call 911?”

The Chess players shrugged and spoke without
turning to look at her.

“Why call? Not illegal to jump.”

“What’s that, Fred?”

“College kids do it all the time.”

“Do what, Fred?”

“Damn kids. Usually bare-ass naked. Who’s
doing all that shooting up there?”

“My move yet?”

“It’s been your move.”

“Since when?”

She turned away from them and called out
again, “A cell phone...maybe a mobile phone...anyone?”

No response.

“Hello,” she said louder, “anyone ever hear
about telephones?”

She looked down at herself. Her lightweight
cotton pullover was sticking to her bra and her jeans were sticking
to her legs. Her sneakers had stayed on. Not a bad outfit, if
you’re going to get totally soaked. Could have been her good
suit.

She heard the comforting sound of sirens;
someone must have heard the shots and phoned. She shook herself
like a wet dog and rushed out the side gate, around the building,
and up to a patrol car just as it pulled to a stop in front.

The officer took a look at her. “You’re all
wet.”

“Thank you.” Her head felt better, but she
was still short of breath. “The shooting’s in 223. Keep people out
of there.”

“Apartment 223? Christ, I just took the tape
down from there yesterday. Who are you?”

“Same case. It’s all connected. Call
Detective Jaworski. Get him over here.”

“What I’m doing is calling my sergeant for
instructions.”

“Well, call from upstairs. Move it!”

“Report said shots were fired up there. I’m
staying right here until I find out what’s going on.”

“The shooter is long gone by now.” She
squished across to her car in her soaked shoes. She didn’t want to
get in and get the seats wet. She slipped her hand down into the
pocket of her wet jeans and brought wet dollar bills out of one
front pocket and a sopping wet piece of notepad paper out of the
other. She remembered the small square of paper with a phone number
tacked to the refrigerator door with a magnet. She tried to unfold
the wet wad of notepaper without tearing it. The
Groveside
Motel
printing remained readable across the top, but most of
the phone number handwritten below in ballpoint was hopelessly
smeared. She reached across into her car and laid the note on her
dashboard to dry. Perhaps Mr. Fabulous Kisser could decipher the
phone number in the FBI lab. Then again, it might turn out to be
the number for pizza delivery. The area code was readable, 305. She
hadn’t noticed before, but the area code printed at the top of the
note for the motel also started with 305. This was no pizza
number.

She frowned at herself in the side rear view
mirror. She brushed her cheeks with her hands. Fortunately, she
hadn’t worn much makeup, so her face didn’t look all that bad, but
her hair was plastered down around her face and neck. She had to
look away. She sat on the curb and watched as more police units
arrived and parked at all angles with radios crackling and rack
lights flashing.

Within five minutes, Jaworski screeched to a
stop and switched off his lights and siren. She was still barefoot
draining the water out of her sneakers, and squeezing her socks.
She threw her wet socks on the floor of her car and was putting on
her sneakers, when Jaworski rushed over.

He wanted to know if she was okay, or needed
an ambulance. She talked excitedly about the intruder. The gunfire
had happened so fast, she explained, all she remembered was a thin
guy with a fat gun and wearing gorgeous leather jacket. “Like that
Versace
jacket Shapiro has.”

“Never paid attention.”

“The jacket was nice, the guy was creepy. I’m
certain I saw him running away from Claudia’s. He drove a silver
Buick, late model.” She gave the detective a further description as
best she could, and he put out a BOLO.

“Hey, Eddy, this guy could be your murderer.
I bet he’s the one who shot John Larena. He returned to the scene
of the crime.”

“That possibility already occurred to
me.”

“Well, you guys must find him. My client is
innocent.”

“Let’s just keep that thought in mind.”

She followed him as he clinked up the steps
with the clamor of his phone, handcuffs, guns, and
god-knows-what-else hanging from his belt. Officers were waiting at
the apartment door. He gave them instructions and put in a call for
CSI. He inspected the door jam. “Wonder how he entered, no sign of
forced entry.”

“The guy must have a key. Remember, the
victim was surprised in the shower. He didn’t walk dripping wet
from the shower to his front door to let the murderer in. The guy
must have let himself in.”

Jaworski was silent.

They went on into the apartment and looked
around. They walked out onto the balcony and looked down at the
pool. “You must have flat out pushed off from the railing to go out
enough to miss the edge of that pool.”

“Nice to get a power boost of adrenaline when
you need it. I had an audience down there, but they weren’t paying
attention to my performance. All that shooting, and no one
noticed.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t live two flights
up.”

The thought of jumping off the fourth floor
gave her a chill.

“I don’t like the idea of you getting shot
at,” Jaworski said. “I’m personally going after the bastard.”

As they walked on through the apartment, she
picked up her handbag from the floor in the kitchen. Jaworski
pointed to the bullet hole in the freezer door. “That could have
been you, and right now I’d be looking down at your bloody body and
telling everyone what a nice girl you were.”

“Thanks for the image.”

“I’m just saying you keep nosing around and
stuff happens.”

“I like to think I’m doing more than nosing
around. Something significant was happening when I walked in
here.”

The place had been ransacked; some ceiling
tiles were down, and one bedroom wall had a large plaster hole.

“Did CSI tear this place up when they were
here for the murder investigation?” she asked. “Someone is after
something—no doubt drugs or money.”

“It’s money. No drugs in this place as of a
couple of days ago. CSI doesn’t need to tear up places. They had a
drug dog sniffing all over this condo after Larena was found
murdered.”

“So it’s money. It could have been in the ice
cube tray. I saw ice cubes scattered inside like someone was
frantically searching.”

“I read that in the CSI report. They think
something other than food had been sitting in the bottom bin. They
detected traces of wet leather like a bag or something. Most likely
a money bag.”

“What else can you tell me about the CSI
report on the Larena murder?”

“Nothing. You’re defending my suspect
remember? Now here, I’m investigating a new case of attempted
murder—yours. And I’ll be getting a written statement from you as
the assaulted victim. We’ll look at some mug shots. Other than
that, I’m not on your side in the Larena case.”

“Don’t forget you have a new suspect now,”
she said.

Jaworski located the manager, and they were
able to review the apartment surveillance tape. It scanned only the
front entrance, and the quality was poor. The time on the video
showed an intruder had entered about an hour earlier. It showed him
running out. She couldn’t see his face clearly. All the time she
was thinking it had to be Richie.

Jaworski answered his phone, listened, and
talked. He looked over at her. “A sheriff’s deputy just made what
he thought was a routine vehicle stop across the city line about
three miles from here. The driver jumped out shooting. They
exchanged gunfire. The driver was killed, and the deputy injured.
Do you like coincidences? A shooting here and minutes later
another. Let’s get over there.”

They hurried down the stairs and jumped into
his unmarked vehicle. He flipped on the lights and siren. “It’s
across the city line, out of my jurisdiction. Want to get there
before the body is removed.”

Within five minutes, they were at an
intersection with the road blocked off. Jaworski was a city
detective, and they were out of the city limits now and into the
county. He held up his badge and a sheriff’s deputy waved them on
through; they parked and walked among the flashing lights up to the
crowd of uniforms around a body lying in the street.

They walked up to a sergeant from the
sheriff’s department who seemed to be in charge. Jaworski said,
“Unless I’m mistaken I think the city and the county are going to
be doing business together on this one. I think your officer just
shot the bad guy I’m chasing for an attempted murder about a
half-hour ago. How’s your man doing?”

“He’s over there about to leave for the
hospital with EMT. Tore up the flesh on his thigh pretty bad.
They’ll take him to emergency.”

“I hope he’ll be okay. And the guy lying
there in the street is dead?”

The sergeant nodded. “Apparently, he did a
rolling stop at a stop sign, and the deputy routinely pulled him
over. The guy came out of his vehicle shooting. The deputy put him
down, no choice. He’s still unidentified.”

“What do you mean unidentified. No billfold,
no license? How about papers in the glove compartment.”

“Nothing we can find so far. We’ll get the
drug dog over here and search his vehicle. That’s his Buick over
there—Dade County plates. We’re running a tag check now.” He gave
Sandy the once over.

“You’re going to find that car was stolen. No
identification sounds like a gang car. Let’s take a look.”

A deputy uncovered part of the body. She and
Jaworski leaned over.

“Where’s his gun?” she asked.

The sergeant looked her up and down as though
questioning her ability to make an intelligent inquiry. “What’s
this? Looks like you just pulled her out of a canal.”

“She’s okay. She was shot at and might ID
this guy.”

She ignored the sergeant’s canal comment.
“What kind of gun did this guy use?”

“You’re Sandy Reid, aren’t you? I’ve heard of
you. Mind if I take your picture?”

That was enough. She gave the sergeant a
frozen look. “Is Lieutenant Triney your superior?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“You mean, ‘Yes, he is, ma’am.’ If you see
Harold before I do, please tell him that Sandy says hello.” She
read his name tag, “And, Sergeant Brewer, if I see him first, I’ll
mention we met. Now, about the gun?”

“We’ve got it, ma’am. It's a .38 automatic,”
he said quietly.

Jaworski frowned. “Sorry Sandy. Larena was
shot with a .45 caliber.”

“So, he can’t own two guns? He uses this one
on weekends. He left his .45 in his other pants.” She leaned down
at the body. She noticed his boot-cut jeans and burnished ankle
high boots. The leather jacket was soaked in blood. Tough to look
at the disgusting sight of death. Even so, if the bastard had his
way, she’d be the one lying in a pool of blood. “This character
looks positively mean. Not that I would ever speak ill of the dead,
be he’s ugly as hell,” She had to look away. “Justice for the
bastard who tried to kill me didn’t take long, even if John’s
murderer is still out there.”