Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1) (24 page)

“That’s fine.”

“I’m going to send my guys from patrol around the back of the house to make sure we don’t get a runner.”

We made our way up the street toward the house. It looked to have been built in the early 2000s. The outside was light-tan stucco. A ten-year-old oak tree sat in front of the house’s front bay window. Low shrubs surrounded the front. The officers from patrol headed around toward the back—one in each direction. I walked to the front entryway while Hank and Jones went to the blind side of the doorway against the house. The sheriff was behind them to the right.

“Ready?” I asked.

They nodded.

I knocked on the door. A flash of darkness and then light flickered in the peephole. Someone was looking out. I moved to the side of the door. It opened.

“Can I help you?”

I looked at the man standing there. He was clean shaven, short, and a little overweight. His hair was a few inches long and dark brown. He wore a red polo shirt and black slacks. He wasn’t Bob Cross, but he wasn’t that far off in appearance, minus the weight difference. Behind him, some kids sat in the living room playing video games on a big-screen TV. A woman sat in the kitchen, talking on the telephone. The man who’d answered the door looked me up and down, trying to figure out who I was and why I was there. From his position, he couldn’t see my backup with their guns drawn.

“Are you Dan Ellison?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Ellison, I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department.” I showed him my badge. “I need you to answer some questions for me.”

His reaction would tell me about his involvement. I waited for him to run, to slam the door in my face, something. He just stood in the doorway.

“Questions? About what?”

“Bob Cross.”

“Bob Cross? What do you want to talk to me about him for?”

“So you know him?”

“I used to work with him, yeah.”

“Where?”

“Pet Med Plus.”

It dawned on me why his name sounded familiar. He was on my sheet of employees for the place.

“We need to know why he is driving a taxi that belongs to you.”

“What?” He stepped from the front door of the house and closed it behind him. He spotted Hank, Jones, and the sheriff with their weapons drawn. “Whoa, what’s going on here?” He held his hands up at shoulder level. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Step out here,” I said. I brought him ten feet from the front of his house. “Do you have any weapons on you?”

“Weapons? No.”

“Mind if I check?”

“Go ahead. I don’t have anything on me.”

I gave him a quick pat down. I nodded for the men to holster their weapons.

“Mr. Ellison, why is Bob Cross driving a taxi registered to you?”

“Taxi? I don’t own a taxi. Never did.”

“There is one titled to you, registered to you, insured by you.”

“It must be a different Dan Ellison because it isn’t me.”

“Your address is on all the forms.”

“Look, I’m telling you I don’t own a taxi. I’ve never even ridden in one.”

I stared at him. He looked as if he was thinking about something.

“Wait a minute. That little prick.”

“What?” I asked.

“He had to be the asshole who stole my wallet from my desk at work. So he registered a cab in my name? Is that what this is about? What did he do? Hit and run?”

“You haven’t been watching the news?”

“No.”

“He killed two people and incapacitated one. Right now, he is on the run with another.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “What?”

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. The caller ID on the screen said it was the captain.

“Sit tight for a second for me, Mr. Ellison.” I motioned for Hank to follow me and for Jones to keep an eye on Ellison. I walked to the sidewalk and hit Talk. “Cap?”

“What’s the scene?”

“This guy was a coworker. Said Cross may have stolen his wallet.”

“Have Jones bring him back to the station either way. I just got word from Timmons. HCSD just called us. They located Samantha’s car.”

“Where is it?”

“Out in Gibsonton.”

“Gibsonton? Where?”

The captain rattled off the location.

“Okay. I’m leaving now.”

He ditched the car a couple blocks away and walked back. A shiny new Lexus sitting in front of the ratty motel would’ve screamed that something was off. He left Kane a clue inside the car. It wouldn’t matter either way.

Samantha Bridgeman lay strapped to the bed. Her hands and feet remained zip tied together. The blinds were drawn shut, so the room was dark. An old television in the corner provided the only source of light—it was playing a Saturday-afternoon movie from the seventies. Bob paced the room and focused on the small alarm clock on the night stand. It showed a couple minutes after two o’clock. He called in the location of Samantha’s Lexus to the sheriff’s department. He walked over and gave her another dose of the tranquilizer.

He left the drill, scalpel, and suture needles, but he stuffed the branding iron, ice pick, hammer, drugs, and lingerie into a pillowcase from the bed. He decided to hang onto the cop’s gun just in case.

Bob headed out. He’d watch the show from a distance before continuing with the rest of the night’s activities.

Jones took Ellison back to the station and dismissed the other officers. Hank and I were nearing where her car had been spotted. I saw the Lexus from half a block away. Aside from the fact that there was a sheriff’s cruiser behind it, in that neighborhood, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Hank and I pulled into the parking lot that the car was sitting in. We stepped out, and the Sheriff walked over to us.

“You my detectives from TPD?” he asked.

“Lieutenant Kane.” I nodded toward Hank. “This is Sergeant Rawlings.”

“Sheriff Richard Williams. I guess someone called our station and reported a stolen vehicle and its location. I shot over and ran the plates. It came back as stolen. The alert said to contact the TPD.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. Do you know if it’s open?” I asked.

“Open with the keys in the ignition. That’s why I’m still sitting here. It was stolen once—doesn’t need to be stolen again.”

I reached out and opened the door.

“Don’t you want to have someone print this thing?”

I shook my head. “We already know who stole it.”

He gave me a confused look.

We hopped in and searched for any sign of a clue that could point us to where Cross was holding Samantha. Hank put his face down to the carpet and searched under the passenger seat.

“Anything?” I asked.

“It’s clean.”

I grabbed the keys to look in the trunk. When the lid flipped open, I noticed hair on the trunk’s carpet. It was the same color and length as Samantha’s. At least it was the last time I saw her. I didn’t see any blood, so I closed the trunk lid. We’d have to get the car towed back to our station so forensics could go over it. I hit the button on Samantha’s key fob to lock the Lexus. I looked at the keys. One was old and worn. It was on the same ring as a number tag—118. I flipped the tag over. It came from a motel in Gibsonton. Underneath the name, it read, “hourly rates”. My ex-wife wouldn’t be caught dead in a rent-by-the-hour motel.

I looked at Sheriff Williams. “Where is the Weary Traveler Motel?”

“Up the street here a mile or so.”

“We need to get there now.” I started for our car. “Can you lead the way?”

“Sure.” The sheriff went to his cruiser.

“Call back to your station for support on your mobile phone. The guy we’re after has a scanner.”

He nodded.

“Come on, Hank. Let’s go.”

We hopped into our car and followed the sheriff from the lot. He flipped on his lights and sirens.

I called it into our dispatch from my cell phone. I didn’t want Cross to know anyone was en route if he was monitoring the police bands. We headed south a little over a mile, weaving in and out of traffic. Sheriff Williams cut the lights and siren a few blocks from our turn. He made a right into the motel’s lot and pulled up to the side of the building. We followed in behind him. We were the only police there.

We piled out, and I asked the sheriff to get our backs. He followed us to the room. The curtains were closed, so we couldn’t get a visual inside. I pulled my service weapon and took the far side of the doorway. Hank tucked in behind me. The sheriff covered us from behind. I pulled Samantha’s keys from my pocket and slipped the hotel key into the door. With my gun in my right hand at my hip, I twisted the knob with my left and pushed the door open. I could see a good part of the room before I stepped to the side. No one ran out, and no shots were fired. I peered around the corner of the doorway. The room was dark. I spotted a lump in the bed, a person. We stayed low and entered—all guns pointed into the room.

Hank flipped on the lights. The room was empty except for the woman strapped to the bed. It was her.

“Sam!” I went to the bedside. Hank cleared the rest of the motel room. The sheriff stepped inside.

“What the hell is this?” he asked.

Plastic covered the bed. The nightstand held a drill covered in blood and a scalpel. A few bottles of alcohol and needles for stitching lay across the nightstand. She lay in a pool of half-dried blood. Both sides of her head had been shaved. Above each ear, at her temple, were stitches. I checked her for a pulse and found it faint. I unhooked the straps holding her.

“One of you have something to cut these zip ties?” I asked.

Hank pulled a pocket knife from his pants, flipped it open, and passed it over. I cut away the ties on her hands and feet. Her hand was branded. Hank grabbed his phone and requested an ambulance.

I picked her up and laid her on the second bed. I leaned over her and opened her eyes with my fingers. “Samantha? Samantha?”

She didn’t respond or wake up.

I sat there until EMS arrived. They couldn’t tell me anything about her condition. They loaded her on a gurney and wheeled her out. I followed. The parking lot was filled with HCSD cars. I walked with the EMTs over to the back of the ambulance, where they loaded her inside. They told me they were going to take her to Tampa General Hospital and closed the doors. They hit the lights and sirens and pulled out. I walked back to the Charger and called Bridgeman.

“This is Marty.”

“It’s Carl. I found her.”

“Well, let me talk to her.”

“She’s being taken to Tampa General.”

“What the hell happened to her? Is she going to be okay?”

“I’m not sure. She was unresponsive when we found her.”

“Unresponsive. What the hell is unresponsive?”

“Just go to Tampa General. I’ll meet you there.” I hung up.

Hank walked around the corner toward me as I leaned against the car.

“Any signs of Cross?” I asked.

He shook his head. “HCSD has a description of him. They are looking around the area. Nothing yet. The woman inside the motel office said the occupant of room 118 came in late last night. She gave me a copy of the invoice.” Hank handed me the piece of paper. “The room was billed to a Visa belonging to Dan Ellison.”

“How is that going to help us now?” I asked.

“Get the feds to watch Ellison’s accounts. See if we get a hit somewhere else.”

I nodded. “I’m going to the hospital. Are you staying here, or do you want me to drop you back at the station?”

“We have our forensics guys and people from the station coming out here. I’m going to stick around. I’ll hitch a ride back.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” I ducked into the car, closed the door, and pulled out.

He opted not to stick around the scene any longer than needed. Bob sat at the bus stop two blocks away, waiting on a ride out of town. He’d watched a sheriff’s car and an unmarked Charger fly past ten minutes prior and turn into the motel. Since then, more squad cars and an ambulance had pulled in. The bus pulled up, and Bob climbed the stairs. He took a seat and smiled.

I parked in the visitor’s section of the parking structure and walked across the parking lot to the emergency wing. I’d called on the way over. No one could tell me anything. I walked through the front doors and stopped at the reception area, where the woman at the counter stopped typing at her computer and looked up.

“What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for Samantha Bridgeman. An ambulance brought her a few minutes ago.”

“Are you a relation?”

I pulled out my badge. “Lieutenant Carl Kane, Tampa Police Department.”

“She’s being seen right now. If you’d like to have a seat in our waiting area, a doctor will let you know as soon as there’s any information.”

“Thank you.” I walked over to the chairs and took a seat.

I sat there for ten minutes before Marty burst through the hospital’s sliding doors. He bypassed the front desk and came straight toward me.

“What the hell happened to my wife?” He shoved me.

I let it go and took a step back. “The doctors are looking at her now. They will let us know as soon as they have any information.”

He stuck his finger in my face. “I swear you’ll pay for this. This is your fault. You’re responsible.”

I tried to ignore him.

“You and your stupid job. You’re the one who put her in danger.”

I looked at the floor.

He stepped closer. “If you were capable of doing your job, my wife would be at home safe right now.”

Bridgeman was starting to test my resolve.

“Big dumb cop. All brawn and no brains. You’ll pay for jeopardizing my family, Kane. You’ll pay for jeopardizing the safety of my wife. Believe it.” He shoved me again.

That was enough. Before I could weigh the consequences, I punched him as hard as I could in the stomach. My fist sank into his flabby midsection, and he folded. I grabbed him before he fell to the ground and pulled him in close. “If you weren’t a worthless piece of shit that went after married women, she’d still be my wife in the first place.” The words left my mouth through clenched teeth. I pushed him down into one of the empty chairs. “Now, sit down and shut up before I lose my temper.”